


Extraordinary

by HyperLittleNori (Shiguresan)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Laura Hale, Alternate Universe, Barista Stiles Stilinski, Blood and Violence (One Scene Near the End), Comfort/Angst, Cuddling, Drama & Romance, Feelings, First Time, Full Shift Werewolves, Lots of domesticity, M/M, Sheriff Stilinski is a Good Parent, Speech Recovery, Tender Sex, speech issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-03-27 13:05:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 109,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13881453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiguresan/pseuds/HyperLittleNori
Summary: An awkward encounter with a man of few words in the laundry room of Stiles's building sparks a chain of events that will change the way he sees the world forever. A little story about finding a place for oneself and someone to share that place with.





	1. Golden Eyes

_Author's Note:_ So this was a challenge for me because I’m usually a person who writes brooding angst and I think that’s where my talent lies mostly. But I wanted to keep this as light as possible and while it does have its moments and touch on some issues (none of them explicitly detailed) because of Stiles’s enduring, positive character here, the way he deals with things I think this has kept the story fairly light. At least as light as I can do, I think it's come out angsty but with a good amount of comfort to balance out the rollercoaster. I wanted positive/inspiring with a touch of domestic fluff and gently brewing romance so I hope it works and is enjoyable as its a first for me. I'll be posting my other Stiles/Derek fic shortly which is much longer and a fair bit darker and more my usual vibe ;)

 

Anyway, this story was born from a sort of request/conversation on the Sterek Facebook Group with **Luke B**. I just loved the idea of their first meeting that you were talking about and couldn’t wait to write this for you!

So this is for **Luke B.** who wanted to read this as an initial meeting and **Mirrie N.** who wanted a bit of barista!Stiles. Hope you both enjoy despite how my mind and fingers ran away with me to create something probably worlds away from what you were expecting. I’ll try to post bi-weekly :)

 

* * *

[___](http://hyperlittlenori.tumblr.com/post/172183188319/i-felt-the-urge-to-make-some-cover-art-for-my)

[](http://hyperlittlenori.tumblr.com/post/172183188319/i-felt-the-urge-to-make-some-cover-art-for-my)  
  [Cover Art by HyperLittleNori (Shiguresan)](http://hyperlittlenori.tumblr.com/post/172183188319/i-felt-the-urge-to-make-some-cover-art-for-my)

**Chapter One**

**_Golden Eyes_ **

 

 

 Vibrating with frenetic energy as always, Stiles hovered on the threshold of the laundry room, the fingers of both hands flexing in a rolling motion as he contemplated what to do. He’d been down twice now in the last two hours and the dryer was still full, the lights on the front still indicating the cycle was completed and the same dark grey basket still sat in front of it at an angle. He glanced up at the clock. It was definitely coming up to two hours now that he’d been waiting to use the dryer. Usually no one else chose Tuesday afternoon to do their laundry, that was why _he_ chose to do it then. Apparently someone else had the same idea today.

 

 When a final uncertain glance back out the door, down the hall showed no one coming to get their laundry, Stiles sighed and approached the dryer. The other two were absent, being replaced according to the sign on the wall, due tomorrow. But it was his long shift tomorrow. Wednesday seemed to be something of a peak time for laundry room traffic anyway. He glanced between the basket and the dryer a few times, fidgeting more and more the longer he delayed. “Screw it,” he muttered, pushing the basket aside and opening the dryer.

 

 The comforter and blankets inside were near enough cool now they’d been sitting for so long, soft and clean smelling but without any obvious scent of softener. He shoved them atop the dryer and dragged his damp laundry out of one of the nearby washing machines. That weird smell of wet laundry left to rest too long hadn’t set in yet. He was good. Tossing it into the dryer along with some dryer sheets and pushing the button to start, he dug his phone out of his pocket and hauled himself up onto the washing machine he’d just emptied, setting in to wait.

 

 He’d intended to search through those community college courses his dad had forwarded him the other day but found himself distracted by the ‘Trending’ section of his Facebook newsfeed. Of course. By the time he was on to watching videos about red panda cubs, the dryer was done. He pulled his clothes out, folding them in the way he’d always watched his mom do when she’d been alive, in such a way that he wouldn’t have to iron them later, with the iron he didn’t have and set them neatly in his laundry bag.

 

 As he turned to leave, he hesitated, the white of the comforter and blankets catching his eye from the top of the dryer. “Don’t be an asshole, Stilinski,” he muttered to himself, setting his bag down and heading back to fold the blankets haphazardly. On his next half-turn away he stopped again, mouth twisting. He may have a slight inability to focus, but he also had learned over the years that some things just had to be done properly. Besides, the blankets looked fancy, probably designed to lie perfectly over some super-king bed, not to be crumpled like that.

 

 With a sigh he pulled them out at the corners, unfolding the abandoned laundry and refolding it carefully. As he pulled the centre under his chin to fold it in half neatly and pull the sides together, he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned to see a man with dark hair standing in the doorway, heavy brows furrowed as he regarded Stiles and the soft material in his hands. Stiles froze, the blanket folded perfectly over his arm now.

 

 “Hey,” he said awkwardly, diving in mouth first, of course, every time. He looked down at the blankets in his arms and felt his face flush. “I was just…folding your laundry,” he finished, as if this were perfectly normal and his heart wasn’t pounding from being caught handling a leather jacket-wearing stranger’s laundry. Like the stranger wasn’t just staring at him _still_ holding his laundry.

 

 “Just folding it,” Stiles said again, as if that made the situation any better. “I wasn’t like…smelling it or anything. Or rubbing it over myself or…” He stopped when he saw the man’s nostrils flare, just a little. He wondered if the guy could smell that coffee scent that was ingrained into Stiles’s skin from all the way across the room. With awkward strides, Stiles approached him and handed the neatly folded laundry over.

 

 There was a small pause as the man looked down at his laundry, apparently considering it, before he met Stiles’s gaze again. “Thanks?”

 

 “Yeah,” Stiles offered, unable to make himself move, just _move_ and get out of there before his entire face caught fire with the mortified blush spreading across his face. “You know.” He gestured at the laundry, floundering on the spot, keeping a mental clamp hard down on the nonsense that wanted to spill over his tongue in an attempt to make the situation less awkward. It would’ve been a futile effort. There was only one thing for it. He paused on the spot, for a brief second not so much as fidgeting an inch, eyes flicking between the blankets and the man’s face.

 

 He bolted. Snatching his laundry bag up he dashed passed him and up the hall, long legs scrabbling to put as much distance between him and that room as possible. He was breathing hard by the time he set his back against the inside of his closed front door and he dragged a hand over his face. _That is the last time I try to be nice,_ he thought, hurrying to put his laundry away so he could hopefully eradicate any lingering reminder of what had just happened.

 

 It was at times like this he missed Scott and Lydia, someone to ramble at, just talk and talk until he had it all out of his system. Lydia and Jordan were on their honeymoon though and Scott was either waist-deep in assignments at U.C. Davis or probably hiding from them in Kira’s dorm.

 

 He glanced at the digital clock on his bedside table in the far corner of his room. His dad would probably be at his desk, wrapping up his shift right about now. Stiles didn’t have time to wait for him to come home, but he’d have time to go take him something relatively healthy to eat before his own shift. Snatching up the keys to his Jeep, Stiles grabbed his grey jacket and set out. He had an hour or so before his shift started.

 

*

 

 Buoyed from seeing his dad and affectionately nagging him about his eating habits at the station, Stiles started his shift at the coffee shop without another thought for the embarrassing laundry room interaction. It was late winter and so the shop was busy, filled to bursting with people most of the afternoon and well into the evening of his shift. He liked it here. It was in the optimum position in Downton Beacon Hills, and though didn’t pay more than minimum wage but it kept his fingers busy.

 

 It wasn’t until long into his shift that things finally quietened down. It was just gone nine when he propped himself up on one of the stools, leaning with his elbows on the counter and flicking through one of the abandoned newspapers. Danny was on his break, so Stiles was alone on the shop floor when the door opened.

 

 “Hey, how can I help you?” he asked, setting the paper aside and hopping off his stool with a smile as a man approached the counter. Instead of browsing the specials though, the man’s bright eyes seemed to pierce through Stiles and pin him to the spot like a skewered butterfly. He had greying hair and kept his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

 

 Stiles’s smile wavered a little but he kept his tone polite when he repeated, in a little wary chant. “Can I help you?”

 

 The man looked around, scanning the clean, empty shop searchingly. “Stilinski,” the man said after a moment.

 

 “Yo,” Stiles replied, fingers drumming on the counter. “You seem plenty excited already, what’ll it be, decaf?”

 

 The man gave a smile that didn’t reach his cold eyes. “You’re the Sheriff’s kid.”

 

 It wasn’t a question, Stiles noted. He straightened up a little, fingers stilling. “Well, nineteen now so not sure if I’m still considered a kid. But he’s my dad, sure.” He picked up a large take away cup and tossed it from one hand to the other. “What’ll it be, Mr…?”

 

 “You live on the new warehouse estate, right?” He waited, studying Stiles for a moment until he obviously realised Stiles was looking for an answer to his own question. “Tall. Black,” he said, setting a few notes onto the counter as payment.

 

 Stiles took it and made his order, the smell of fresh coffee spiralling pleasantly through his senses. He didn’t quite turn his back on the man as he poured, though he wasn’t sure why. “It’s not new anymore exactly,” he said conversationally, “about a decade now. Still a pretty sweet district though. Up and coming and all that, converted warehouses. They’ve done a good job at rehabilitating the area. I live with my dad in a pretty good sized apartment there.”

 

 The man nodded with that same not quite smile as he took his coffee. He didn’t move. “And you’ve not noticed anything suspicious in the area? Anything out of the ordinary?”

 

 Stiles’s brow furrowed and he cast a surreptitious glance at the clock. Danny would be back any second. He felt uncomfortably vulnerable under this man’s gaze. “Sorry, are you like…one of my dad’s new deputies or something? Has there been a crime?”

 

 “Well, that’s what I hope to find out,” the man said, staring straight into his eyes before lifting the cup of coffee up a fraction. “Thanks. I’ll be seeing you around.” He left without so much as a backward glance, just as Danny came through the back door and back onto the shop floor behind Stiles. Stiles stared after the nameless man, feeling oddly shaken. He couldn’t help but feel he’d just been threatened or something.

 

*

 

 “I checked the database son and there’s no one that meets your description in there,” his dad said as Stiles walked into his office. “Not one of my guys either.” It’d been a few days since he’d told his dad about the ominous visitor, a few long shifts during which he thankfully hadn’t appeared again. Still, there was this feeling Stiles just couldn’t shake.

 

 “Maybe some kind of wacko vigilante?” Stiles offered, feeling just as weary as his dad looked from his own graveyard shift. He waved a polystyrene container and a coffee cup at his dad before setting them in front of him. “Made this one myself before I left,” he said, watching as his dad opened up the breakfast sandwich and took a bite. He didn’t feel so bad, letting his dad eat it knowing he’d drained all the oil and fat off at least.

 

 “I just got a vibe off this guy, you know?” Stiles said, rolling his right shoulder with a wince. “I’d get the security tape from the shop but I don’t know how long they keep the footage for. And the guy didn’t really commit any offenses, I guess.” His dad looked at him carefully, studying his movements carefully, pausing in his chewing.

 

 “Are you doing too much, kiddo?” Noah asked after he’d swallowed his mouthful, gesturing to Stiles’s shoulder. “You still doing your exercises before bed?”

 

 Stiles grimaced, squeezing his shoulder a final time before settling his left hand back in his lap. “Not _technically_ …”

 

 “Which means not at all,” his dad said with an exasperated frown. “Stiles, you know if you let it seize up again you’ll–”

 

 “-I’ll have to go back to physio, I know,” Stiles sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry. I know I just…I forget. I lose track, you know that.” Their eyes met, a ghost there of that day, that moment where everything changed for the second time in their lives. It bothered his dad a lot more than it did him. Right then, his dad had that haunted look in his tired, lined face but Stiles, he smiled softly.

 

 “I’ll set an alarm to do it when I wake up,” Stiles promised gently, reaching across the table to squeeze his dad’s hand, the one not occupied by the half a sandwich. His dad gripped back just a little too tight, before reluctantly letting him go.

 

 “You home for dinner tonight, Pops?” he asked brightly as he reached for the door.

 

 The sheriff gave a tired smile. “Sure. It’s been crazy here but if I don’t get home at a reasonable time tonight I don’t think I’ll be good for anything.”

 

 “I’ll make something,” Stiles promised, pulling the office door open.

 

 “Don’t stress your shoulder out more by carting groceries up to our apartment!” his dad called after him, “I’ll get it on the way home.”

 

 “Yep. Got it,” Stiles replied, turning fully to walk out into the main room, only to slam straight into a man waiting on the other side. “Whoa, sorry dude, I have had so little sleep in the last…” He trailed off, heart skipping as he found himself staring into a mortifyingly familiar face. He felt the sandwich he’d wolfed down before leaving work weigh heavy in his stomach. “Yo,” he drawled awkwardly, taking a step back out of the laundry-room man’s personal space.

 

 A dark frown was the only response he got.

 

 Stiles smiled nervously, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. Those green-grey eyes searching him, probably wondering if Stiles had a bladder control issue or something. At that thought, Stiles forced himself to stay still. His lips parted but before anymore verbal diarrhoea could escape him a woman with dark brown hair framing her face stepped up to the man’s side, looking between him and Stiles with her own little frown.

 

 “Derek?” she asked in a firm but cautious voice, as if conversing with an unpredictable beast. “Everything alright?”

 

 Derek lifted his head a fraction, as if gathering himself and his own mouth seemed to hang in search of words before he managed a curt, “Yes.”

 

 The woman didn’t look convinced, studying Stiles carefully before taking a step towards him. She was a couple of inches shorter than both Stiles and Derek, who were of a height, but she had an imposing presence that was far beyond her stature. He was pretty sure half the deputies in the station wouldn’t want to cross her. To his relief, footsteps sounded behind him and his dad popped his head out into the room.

 

 “Laura Hale, I heard you wanted to see me,” Noah said in a professional tone. But it was hard for Stiles to tell whether it was the one he used for suspects, victims or colleagues.

 

 Stiles glanced back at his dad before looking at Laura Hale again, then Derek. Derek Hale? Derek and Laura Hale. That was…

 

 Stiles’s stomach dropped and his eyes widened. Holy shit.

 

 “Stiles,” his father said warningly. “Get out here and get some sleep, huh?” He stood back and gestured inside and Laura moved forward with a polite smile for the sheriff. Derek just nodded in acknowledgement, his head craned to the side to regard Stiles even as he walked into the office. He didn’t take his eyes off him even when he was seated in one of the chairs in front of the sheriff’s desk, watching him through the doorway and around Stiles’s dad with what Stiles could only deduce as distrust.

 

 “Stiles.” There was that warning in his dad’s voice again and Stiles gave a nervous wave.

 

 “Going. Going,” he assured him, feeling that gaze on the back of his neck all the way out of the room. When he got home, he lay in bed staring at his ceiling, exhausted but unable to stop his mind from racing. Oh God. Derek Hale. He’d totally molested the guy’s bedsheets, the comforter and sheets of a guy who’d lost everything and everyone except his older sister in a fire nine years ago. Like, surely that made whatever he had now precious or something? Surely Stiles had seriously fucking hurled himself over the lines of personal space or whatever? If ever there was a person whose stuff was off limits it was someone who’d lost everything. Oh fuck. He knew those sheets had felt nice. Derek probably had to have nine-thousand thread count sheets just to rest at night and Stiles had…

 

 He slammed a palm across his face and struggled to just stop his brain. He’d never met the guy but the names were famous for all the wrong reasons in Beacon Hills. It explained the unapproachable shadow to his eyes and probably even his social ineptitude. More than explained.

 

 When his mother had died, Stiles coped by keeping busy, by looking after his dad, by talking and never stopping for fear of what might catch up to him the moment he stood still. It was why his dad Scott and Lydia gave him that indulgent look of exasperated fondness, of knowing whenever he went off on one of his tangents. But he knew not everyone coped with grief the same way. So maybe the strained nature of their interactions hadn’t only been Derek taking an instinctive dislike for the person handling his bedclothes. Maybe just a bit of it.

 

  _Stop thinking about it and go to sleep,_ Stiles told himself. Not for the first or last time that morning.

 

*

 

 More often than not, Stiles and his father were like ships passing in the night. It’d been like this ever since he made sheriff, even when Stiles was at school so it wasn’t really anything new. They’d always had to work a little harder than most to find time together. Stiles frequently stopped by the station if he could but on occasion, his dad would manage to drop by the coffee shop in time for Stiles’s break so they could grab a bite to eat in one of the booths in the corner.

 

 “Not a chance,” his dad said firmly, holding his cup of coffee as if it were a precious commodity. “You can control the cholesterol and blood sugar, son, but you do not mess with a man’s coffee. That’s his own sacred right.”

 

 Stiles snorted. He supposed a little caffeine was the least his dad deserved. He was getting quite good at not consuming his weight in fast food. “Ok,” Stiles relented. “But let’s at least swap the sugar for some Sweet’n Low, huh?” He pulled the sugar sachets toward him and pushed a few pink packets back toward his dad in their place.

 

 His dad’s face crumpled. “They’re for old people,” he complained but tore open four sachets regardless.

 

 With a sigh, Stiles pulled apart a sandwich between his long fingers until he could swallow the minute pieces without much effort. “How long have the Hales lived in our apartment block?” he asked conversationally.

 

 The sheriff hesitated, coffee cup held aloft before his mouth without him taking a sip. His eyes narrowed. “No, Stiles.”

 

 Stiles shoved another few dissected sandwich portions into his mouth. “What?” he asked, “I asked a question. Hasn’t a man got a right to know who shares his building with him?”

 

 With a suspicious look in his eye, his dad sipped his coffee. “They moved to New York after the fire, lived there until about two years ago, when they bought the apartment on the top floor in our building. Laura Hale opened her own practice in Beacon Hills to be closer to their uncle who’s still in a vegetative state in a long term care home here.”

 

 Stiles blinked. “She’s a doctor?”

 

 “Psychotherapist.” His dad said it in such a way that Stiles felt like he was being accused of something before he’d even done it – or said it more accurately. He finished his sandwich and started on his smoothie. He tried to avoid coffee. He had a hard time stopping once he started on one cup.

 

 “What does Derek do?”

 

 There was that look again, the one his dad would give him whenever Stiles would offer up an alibi for the crap he and Scott used to get up to in school. Noah set his mug down. “’Derek?’ What are you guys buddies now?”

 

 Stiles lifted his eyebrows and tried to be aloof. “We ran into each other in the laundry room, got to talking a bit.”

 

 The sheriff tensed and downed the rest of his coffee. “Stiles, I love you kiddo, but leave Derek Hale alone, alright?”

 

 “Why? Is he a reformed criminal or something?”

 

 “Stiles,” his dad said again, “he’s…he’s a troubled guy. He and his sister like their privacy. Do everyone a favour and leave them be, yeah?”

 

 “Dad, please,” Stiles sighed, like he was some sort of trouble maker. Still. He sipped at his smoothie and when he glanced back up at his dad there was an exasperated yet adoring smile there for him.

 

 He went back to work when his dad left with his curiosity no more settled than before, but ready for the rest of his shift regardless. There was a slow period between the end of lunch and the five o’clock rush where he always found himself rushing round the place in a whirlwind. The owners probably loved him because he couldn’t sit still and was always cleaning just to keep busy. They also probably liked that the old ladies and the moms came in just to see him half the time.

 

 About half way into the slow period, Stiles was offering old Mrs Cramer a refill on her English Breakfast Tea, letting her fuss over how ‘skinny’ he was since she was the only customer in the shop when the door went. He turned to the counter to see the part time girl from the community college had vanished from the till, probably on another cigarette break, and of course, Derek Hale was standing there, waiting to be served.

 

 Stiles inwardly cringed. It was as if the moment from the laundry room kept repeating itself over and over in his head every time he saw the guy and he wanted to curl up and hide under the expensive comforter he’d been caught pawing at. _Oh my God_ , he thought, managing to walk back behind the counter without tripping over himself. “Yo,” he said, wanting to smack himself in the forehead the second it came out of his mouth, all awkward and stinted. He bounced a little on his toes. “Can I help you? I mean, you know, do you want anything?”

_Besides your neighbour not rubbing himself all over your bedspread?_

 

 Derek stared at him for a second, seeming tense before reaching into the pocket of his leather jacket. “Coffee. Black. Two.” He punctuated his words by pointing at the stack of large cups to Stiles’s left.

 

 Right. Nothing displayed distaste more than monosyllabic responses. A little taken back by the bluntness, Stiles just gave a short nod before turning to the machine to make the drinks. He set them on the counter, taking his time finding the correct lids for the cups even though they were organised perfectly for a quick grab. He kept taking little furtive glances up from his task, trying to formulate his words in his head before he spoke for once, but by the time he was setting the lids in place, they blurted out in a clumsy rush anyway.

 

 “Hey, so, I mean about the whole…” he gestured awkwardly, “…laundry… _touching_? I was just…I mean…” He inhaled in frustration. “I needed to use the dryer and your stuff had been sitting in there for ages and instead of tossing them on the side like an asshole I folded them up, alright? I’m not like some sort of laundry smelling creep.” When Derek only stared at him like he was contemplating his murder, Stiles added sharply, “Dude can you stop looking at me like that?”

 

 Derek raised his eyebrows at that and jutted his chin toward the cups Stiles still held captive.

 

 “Right, sure, whatever,” Stiles grunted, annoyed. A guy could only say he was sorry, right? _That’s the last time I ever do anything nice,_ he thought, not for the first nor last time. He pushed the cups across the counter at Derek and when Derek took them he seemed to pause for a second.

 

 “Thanks,” he said in a blunt tone, before turning and heading out the door.

 

 Stiles stared after him until tottering old Mrs Cramer called across the shop floor, “not a very sociable boy, is he?”

 

 “No,” Stiles sighed, “no, he’s not.” He grabbed hold of the cloth to clean down the counter from the spill of coffee he’d left during the exchange and stopped as he saw Derek’s wallet sitting there on the side. “Great,” he muttered to himself, “now he’s going to think I’m a _wallet-stealing_ laundry sniffer.” He picked it up with a sigh of resignation. Being a good person sucked sometimes.

 

*

 

 Despite his reservations about putting himself within killing range of Derek Hale anytime soon, Stiles didn’t stop at home to hand his dad the wallet and ask him to take it up. For whatever reason, he took the lift straight up to the top floor which was taken up entirely by the Hale’s apartment.  Stepping out into a hall with only a few wall sconces as decoration, Stiles found to his surprise a black wooden door just like his. He stepped up to it and knocked before he could change his mind.

 

 The door opened and Stiles just had time to catch Laura Hale’s expression of tension before it flickered into one of surprise.

 

 “Oh,” she said, opening the door a little wider to look at him properly. “Stiles, right? Sheriff Stilinski’s son?”

 

 Stiles nodded, feeling oddly out of sorts under her warm brown eyes. He pulled Derek’s wallet out of his pocket, his shoulder stiffening at the action. He winced, rolling it awkwardly before passing it to her. If she noticed the tension in him at the sharp pain, she said nothing. “Derek,” Stiles said, “he left it at the shop. I thought I’d better bring it. I mean I only live downstairs so…”

 

 Laura smiled at him, the warmth within the expression making her look so different from the defensive, menacing creature Stiles had glimpsed at the station. “Thank you, that’s very kind of you. Oh,” she glanced over her shoulder uncertainly for a second before meeting Stiles’s gaze once more. “I’ve got something for your dad, a sort of thank you present. Would you mind taking it with you? I don’t…I can’t really get away right now and I don’t want it to go to waste.”

 

 “Uh, sure.”

 

 Laura beckoned him in, Stiles hesitated on the doormat when he saw their expensive mocha-hued carpet but she waved him in with a smile when he moved to remove his shoes and shut the front door behind him. The living space was large and open planned but homely looking, with squashy grey sofas, a large television centered in a unit otherwise stocked floor-to-ceiling with books and DVDs. Stiles followed Laura toward the left hand side of the living space to where the kitchen dominated the wall. A large glass dish was sat there with a lid over it.

 

 “Apple and cinnamon pie,” she said, taking it and passing it to Stiles. “Don’t worry about the dish, just bring it back whenever.”

 

 Stiles blinked. “Oh, uh, thank you. Thanks, this is great.”

 

 Laura’s mouth twitched at the corners. “Your dad has really helped us over the years, and again recently. I wish we could do more.” Just as she spoke, one of the doors that led off from the opposite side of the living space opened and both she and Stiles looked up to see Derek standing there. He looked no less menacing in sweat pants and a dark grey t-shirt and bare feet. Stiles felt like he’d been caught holding his laundry all over again and found his cheeks colouring a little.

 

 “I was just returning your wallet,” Stiles said quickly. “You left it. At the shop. Guess you were too busy glaring?” He wanted to swallow that last bit. He bit the inside of his cheek hard at his lack of control.

 

 Laura, for her part, seemed to be holding back a smile. “Derek, c’mon, get your ass over here.”

 

 Derek hesitated but beside Stiles, Laura shifted, probably giving him some sort of non-verbal signal because Derek reluctantly moved closer. He came forward until the kitchen island was all that separated them and picked up his wallet. “Thanks,” he said after a moment, in the same blunt tone.

 

 “Err, you’re welcome,” Stiles offered, wondering if this guy’s glare was a permanent fixture? Going for the jugular of the elephant in the room, Stiles said, mostly to Laura, “Derek hates me because I touched his bed sheets.”

 

 Laura gave a startled laugh. “Dare I ask?”

 

 “I was just folding them!” Stiles cried indignantly, “Seriously, I was just trying to do a nice thing and now he just shows up everywhere.”

 

 Derek, for his part, looked a little stunned. Laura leant forward, bracing her arms across the island to tap her fingers delicately over one of Derek’s forearms in a fleeting, teasing gesture. Derek scowled at her too.

 

 Stiles laughed, he couldn’t help it.

 

 Derek, meanwhile, looked a little staggered by the sound, staring at Stiles as if light-hearted amusement wasn’t something he was accustomed to.

 

 “He saves his best scowls for the people he likes, you probably fascinate him,” Laura mused.

 

 “Laura,” Derek said, and Laura tilted her chin onto her hand and watched him dutifully, as if needing to express how raptly she was listening. Derek didn’t say anything else though, in fact his jaw set as if in frustration and when Stiles looked between brother and sister and saw Laura’s gentle teasing smile fade to one of fond helplessness, he realised something was going on here that he was missing.

 

 Setting the pie dish down on the counter Stiles, rather than pray futilely for the right words, simply dove in hoping for the best. “Derek, are you…can you not… _?_ ”

 

 The effect was immediate. Derek pushed back from the counter, eyes hard, moving to turn away and without thinking, Stiles bolted around the side of the island and grabbed for him, snatching hold of his arm. Derek froze, turning slowly, looking first at the place where Stiles’s hand was on him, then to Stiles’s face, expression set, daring him to keep holding on. Stiles swore he saw his lip tense, almost as if it were about to draw back in a snarl.

 

 Laura started slowly towards them but Derek’s gaze snapped to her and he barked, “don’t.” He looked frustrated, silently mortified and Stiles could feel his brain practically buzzing in an attempt to process everything that _wasn’t_ being said. Laura stilled at the command. For whatever reason, Stiles was reminded of when his dad had been called to talk with his teachers whenever they were ‘concerned’ about his ADHD holding him back. Stiles had sat there, frustrated and angry and his dad had wanted to make it all better, but it’d only made Stiles feel even more like a helpless child.

 

 “Is it…?” he began slowly, cautiously, never being one for tact before but wanting to strive for it now as best he could. This wasn’t the time to be the bull in the china shop. He moistened his lips, watching Derek’s eyes follow the movement and feeling an out of place little jolt in his belly at the sight. “Is it like some form of Aphasia?” That had been one of his research projects when he was younger, one of the many branches off from when he’d researched his mother’s illness.

 

 Derek’s gaze snapped back to him so sharply that Stiles lifted his hand with great pronounced movement.

 

 “I’m taking my hand off,” Stiles assured him.

 

 “Not as such,” Laura said slowly, “it’s not from a physical accident or trauma and not all the symptoms are the same. Aphasia is a very complicated condition, I wouldn’t like to pigeon hole Derek in there, without knowing more about it. From what I’ve read, this is a little different.”

 

 “You haven’t taken him to a doctor? Researched it?” Stiles asked.

 

 Derek stiffened.

 

 “It’s not that simple,” Laura replied, her voice almost inaudible.

 

 Stiles’s brow furrowed as he met what he now knew to be Derek’s defensive, guarded glare. Before he could say a word, however, Derek was in his space.

 

 “No,” he snarled, finger in Stiles’s chest. Whatever it was that was affecting him, his voice still sounded fluent, easy, not slurred or staggering. “No pity.” He did sound petulant though.

 

 “I don’t feel pity,” Stiles retorted, “I feel pissed off mostly.” He swatted Derek’s finger away from him.

 

 “Not stupid.”

 

 “Did I say you were?” Stiles nearly growled, exasperated. “Jesus…” He ran a hand over his hair. “You don’t think people judged me for having ADHD? That they didn’t call me the sheriff’s retard kid when they thought I couldn’t hear? Back the hell up with your defensive aggression, alright buddy?”

 

 Derek’s thick eyebrows twitched, apparently surprised by Stiles’s outburst. That was the thing, Stiles supposed, Derek for whatever reason seemed to be struggling with speech but had such an expressive face, while Stiles, who couldn’t shut up, was brilliant at reading people. He could tell his audacity wasn’t something Derek was used to and he could tell Laura was amused despite the gravity of the situation.

 

 “So,” Stiles said, shifting slightly, wanting to shake off the irritation that had swept over him. “You understood all that well enough, right? So…you just can’t like…find the words, or something?”

 

 Derek’s nostrils flared a little, glare set. But the frustration seemed directed inward this time. “No.”

 

 “So you can process it fine, it’s just like…remembering how to say it yourself? The right things to say?” Laura was right, Stiles thought, he wasn’t sure he’d heard of anything like that, and if he had, not many things that weren’t caused by some sort of physical or health-related trauma.

 

 “Yes,” Derek said, jaw tense. Right, so he was annoyed by Stiles’s questions. That was hardly something Stiles hadn’t dealt with before. Stiles didn’t have a stop button or a respect for privacy. Maybe it was a good thing he didn’t pass the physical to get into the Beacon County Police Academy. He probably wouldn’t have been a very sensitive cop. His dad was always good at that stuff, at knowing what to say at just the right time.

 

 “Can I ask…?”

 

 “No,” Derek snapped, looking to Laura as well now. “ _No_.”

 

 Laura bit her lip. “It’s sort of…an extension of what happened after the fire, I guess.”

 

 “So like a mental language barrier?” Stiles ventured.

 

 Suddenly, Derek slammed his hand down on the kitchen island, right between Laura and Stiles, so that they both jumped at the loud sound. The granite groaned but Stiles couldn’t help but stare at Derek’s face. When Derek’s gaze flicked to his, the down-lights from underneath the cabinets seemed to makehis eyes burn a dazzling gold, fleeting but stunning in their brilliance.

 

 “I…” Derek began, wincing when he halted. “Here. _Here_. Not. Not stupid. Here.”

 

 Stiles opened his mouth to argue that he didn’t think that, at all, but talking about someone like they weren’t there was a classic way to insinuate they were too stupid to understand what you were talking about. He remembered that frustration, as fresh as if it were yesterday, the teachers talking over his head to his dad about his inability to focus. He remembered the doctors telling his dad what he would or wouldn’t be able to do after the accident.

 

 Before he could rectify the situation, however, Derek had turned away and strode across the living room. Stiles watched him open the same door he’d appeared through earlier and slam it behind him. He sort of wished Derek had punched him instead. How had it all spiralled out of control so spectacularly?

 

 “Don’t take it to heart,” Laura said gently, squeezing his shoulder. “He’s more angry with himself than anything. With the situation. It’s hard.” She circled back around into the kitchen and brought two mugs down out of the cupboards, dropping a teabag into each.

 

 “Do you…I mean… Can he relearn stuff?”

 

 Laura seemed to have one of those boiling water taps fitted. She held the mugs under the steaming tap before moving to the fridge to get the milk. “Of course,” she said lightly, sounding slightly weary. “But he only accepts help from me so…” She winced. “I’m not an expert, I’m a psychotherapist not a speech therapist so it’s slow going and he gets frustrated, naturally. Any of us would. It’s demeaning; it makes him feel like a child. He hates to be seen like that, to be seen to be weak.”

 

 Stiles straightened up at that. “Surely it takes strength to even try though, right?”

 

 For whatever reason, Laura glanced to the door Derek had disappeared through before focussing on Stiles. “Definitely. But people can be cruel and Derek and I we both…” She hesitated. “We have experience with what people can do with our trust. We don’t give it lightly. We can’t. Not anymore.”

 

 That, Stiles thought, was such a sad truth but also a gentle dismissal, one even he could comprehend. He nodded slowly. It wasn’t like he expected them to tell them even this much, really. That was probably partly what Derek was so annoyed about, the intrusiveness. It was just a little hard for him to accept he couldn’t always know everything though. Hard to let things go. Hard to accept it wasn’t possible to solve every mystery or help every victim.

 

 He picked up the pie dish. “Thanks, Dad will love this. Cinnamon is his secret addiction.” That earned a warm smile from Laura. “English Breakfast Tea?” he asked in regards to the cups in her hands. He’d recognised the box she’d got them from in the cupboard.

 

 Laura looked sheepish. “Peace offering. Mom used to do it.” She tipped her head toward Derek’s door. “I want you to understand, Derek is…he’s still a grown man, inside and out. He’s wicked smart and strong it’s just…he can’t articulate it very well. It pisses him off, you know?”

 

 Stiles held the pie dish close. “It used to piss me off too, being limited by something,” he said with a shrug. “It’s just about deciding how far to push the limits. My mom used to always say the only people that set the limits of our expectations are us.” His lips twitched. “She probably stole that out of some book but you know, it’s a good quote, whoever said it.”

 

 Laura gave a small laugh and Stiles decided to get out while he was ahead. He couldn’t help but notice the way she looked at Derek’s door again and wondered if she was worried he’d be listening in or something.

 

 

 Later that evening, while his dad was tucking into a slice of pie and groaning with honestly indecent pleasure, Stiles licked sugar off his lips and asked, “Was Derek Hale like, catatonic or anything, after the fire?”

 

 His dad’s face hardened, eyes narrowing. “Stiles, I told you–”

 

 “I know, I know,” Stiles cut across him. “I know, dad, believe me. This isn’t just me being a nosy brat, alright?”

 

 His dad set his fork down and regarded him shrewdly. “And what is this then?”

 

 Inhaling shakily, Stiles swept his fingertip through the remains of his pie juice and sugar and licked his skin clean absently. “I just…I want to help, you know? Maybe I could.” After a long silence, he braved a glance up at his dad from under his lashes and found that sad, warm expression on his dad’s face. The same one he’d wear when Stiles used to say he wanted to be a doctor to save his mom.

 

 “Derek Hale was fifteen when his sister, who was meant to be away at college, picked him up from school and told him they’d lost their family and their home. It was all I could do to keep the press and the authorities away from the pair of them as much as possible back then, as a deputy,” his dad said levelly. “His sister co-operated with us fully but she was insistent that Derek was kept out of it. No one saw him after the fire until a couple of years ago when they came back to Beacon Hills.”

 

 Stiles nodded slowly, thinking. “He can’t speak. Not well anyway,” he said distantly, “he paid for the coffees at the shop the other day though and he can follow what people say. He just can’t make words work for himself for whatever reason.”

 

 “Stiles.” The sheriff reached across and set a hand on Stiles’s forearm, squeezing gently. “I know you want to understand this thing from all angles so you can find a way to help, but they have very little privacy and you’re only going to come across as some nosy neighbour. Trust me, okay? Let this go. Laura Hale is a smart woman; she can help her brother better than anyone. Failing that, they have enough money to get him the help he needs.”

 

 Stiles winced. It sounded so patronising that way and he didn’t know why. “But she’s hit a wall or something, or Derek has,” he said, dragging his thumb across his lip. “Maybe I could just–”

 

 “Stiles,” his dad said again, squeezing just a fraction tighter, “let this go.” He pronounced it slowly, gently and didn’t let go until he seemed sure Stiles had registered his words. He picked up his fork again and Stiles watched him finish his pie in thoughtful silence.

 

 It was probably the insane amount of sugar dusting that pie or simply the food-coma he’d slipped into after the third slice, but that night he dreamt he was in his old Econ class, Finstock telling his dad about the History of Circumcision essay he’d handed in, his dad staring at Stiles in confusion. Only when Stiles opened his mouth to explain, no words came out. No matter how hard he tried.

 

 He jerked awake with the feeling of frustration and panic thick in his throat, but as he looked around his dark bedroom, his heart-rate sky-rocketed when he saw a pair of glowing golden eyes by the window. His breath caught in a soundless scream and he scrambled to turn his bedside light on. Of course, the moment the yellowish light softly illuminated his room, the glowing eyes were gone, the image already fading along with the rest of his sleepy haze.

 

 With a sigh, Stiles rubbed his eyes. Resting his forehead on his palm, he waited until he’d calmed down to climb out of bed. He needed some water or something. His head was pounding.  His bed was a mess too. He must’ve been tossing and turning in the sheets.

 

 When his fingers curled around the door handle, however, he stopped, frowning at the window. It was open. He was pretty sure he hadn’t left it open though. For one thing it was January, he would’ve frozen to death if he had and his room still felt warm, as if it’d only been recently opened. Shuddering, Stiles crossed the room and quickly shut the window, locking it tight. He stared at it a few moments, before shutting the blind for good measure.

 

 “Dude, you need sleep,” he murmured to himself, before heading out into the kitchen for his glass of water. It wasn’t overly late and his dad was still sitting up watching TV in the open-planned living area. In the end, Stiles curled up on the other end of the couch for a while as he nursed his water and forgot all about dreams of losing his words and glowing eyes in the dark.

 

 He dreamt of golden eyes almost every night after that though and when they weren’t brilliant gold, they were icy, piercing blue.

 

_~To Be Continued..._


	2. Grizzly Wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am overwhelmed with the love I've received since posting this story and my other Sterek oneshot. I’ve been a greedy reader in the fandom for a long time but was too afraid to post any of my own. All your lovely comments have seriously made me regret not sharing sooner! I hope you all enjoy the next chapter.
> 
>  **Please see chapter's end notes for[warnings for this chapter](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13881453/chapters/32079162#chapter_2_endnotes) if you feel you need to protect yourself. ** I've made the warnings as least spoiler-y as possible.

**Chapter Two**

**_Grizzly Wolf_ **

 

 

 Stiles closed his eyes and tipped his head back against the wall, rolling his tender shoulder, then rubbing it with his opposite hand when that didn’t help much. He’d set the alarm on his phone to vibrate when his laundry was ready to take out of the dryer and he’d stuck his earphones in, listening to the assorted narrators reading him _Dune._ It was something he started when his dad had been promoted to Sheriff and the apartment had been too quiet without him. He’d have an audiobook playing in the background while he did most things, now it was something he enjoyed to relax with.

 

 He hadn’t put too much strain on his shoulder but he guessed maybe a few months of being a bit careless with it amounted to the same thing. His dad made a good wage and Stiles’s was enough of a top up that they weren’t struggling even with the mortgage payments, except for the medical bills left over. It was enough of a strain that the idea of visiting the doctor again was a little daunting. He’d give it just a few more days, see if it picked up on its own.

 

 After a while he opened his eyes, stretching  slightly in his seat and jumped a little when he realised Derek was sitting just two chairs down from him. He scrambled to pause the audiobook on his phone and watched Derek straighten and look at him, as if he’d snapped back to reality just as Stiles had. _Had he been listening?_ Stiles wondered. He hadn’t thought it’d been on that loud. “Err, sorry,” Stiles ventured, tugging his earphones out. “Was I playing it too loud?”

 

 Derek stared at him for a moment, seeming to consider saying something else before settling on, “No.”

 

 Stiles was used to being the more active conversationalist with most of his friends and acquaintances. He wasn’t a stranger to carrying the conversation, he probably enjoyed it a bit too much, if he was honest. It left him room to ramble across the plains of companionable silence. This silence wasn’t quite comfortable though. It was awkward, because Derek felt demeaned by his limitations, by Stiles’s knowledge of them.

 

 Before Stiles could stop himself he asked, “why did Laura tell me all that, the other day?”

 

 Derek set his jaw. “Don’t know.”

 

 She’d done it without Derek’s permission, which was…wrong, yeah, he guessed, but it must’ve been hard for her too, not being able to share that with anyone. If she was trying to rehabilitate him alone, that must have been isolating for her too. Stiles leant forward with his elbows on his knees, hands wringing together between them. “Maybe she just wanted someone to talk to, you know? For both of you. It can help.”

 

 Derek said nothing, just turned his gaze away.

 

 Stiles pushed on. “I don’t know the whole story but I do know it’s just like any other illness, you just need to take it a step at a time. I mean you do speak a bit, right? And you didn’t have any trouble recognising the right notes when you paid for the coffee. Can you still read or…?” He trailed off as Derek’s head snapped up and threw him a murderous glare. Stiles exhaled through his nose. “Look I know this is none of my business, okay? But maybe I can help? And you guys know my dad, right? You know you can trust me.”

 

 “I…” Derek’s frustration was plain to see. “I don’t.”

 

 Stiles sat upright, feeling his phone vibrating in his pocket. “Fine, you don’t know me. That’s fine. But you have to try something, dude, before your sister has a friggin’ mental breakdown or something trying to help you. You guys, you’re not a two-man army, alright?” He pushed to his feet as he was speaking, moving forward to drag his clothes out of the dryer and shove them roughly into his laundry bag. As he moved to the door, however, Derek rose to stand in his way.

 

 “Oh, you’re gonna threaten me, huh big guy?” Stiles challenged. “I’m not afraid of you.” It was mostly the truth. “You’re angry because of whatever happened to make you like this,” he added. “You’re angry that people think you’re stupid because you can’t speak. I know what it’s like to–” He cut short as Derek surged forward, seizing Stiles’s hoodie and gripping tight, pinning him between him and one of the dryers.

 

 “You don’t,” Derek snapped, so close their noses were almost touching, his eyes blazing.

 

 Stiles drew in a sharp breath, eyes flicking over the tense line of Derek’s mouth, then up to those eyes, that caught the light in that way that caught a flare of gold for the briefest moments.

 

 “You don’t,” Derek insisted again, voice quieter but no less fierce.

 

 “I might not know exactly what happened to you,” Stiles replied, guessing what Derek meant. “But I know what it’s like to be judged and to let people’s judgement limit you. If you get over yourself, get over your pride for two seconds you can...” He sighed when Derek’s expression, his guarded stance didn’t change. His usual approach of ‘keep going like a battering ram until you get through the barricades’ wasn’t going to work here. Pure force and stubbornness. He shoved Derek back a bit, not surprised at how immovable his wall of muscle was. He managed to side-step him nonetheless. “You’re a stubborn dick, Derek Hale,” he muttered, before heading out the door.

 

 So maybe Stiles was pushing the boundaries here. Maybe Derek was rightfully pissed off. Stiles never had learned when to quit.

 

 It wasn’t until he got back upstairs and set his phone aside to sort through the laundry that he thought about it. Derek had been listening to the story with him, he was sure he had. A quick glance at the clock told him he had enough time. After hastily putting the laundry away, he booted up his laptop, fingers tapping swiftly on the desk as he waited impatiently for it to load. He glanced at the clock again. He was cutting it fine.

 

 In the end, he found himself dashing out of the lift on the top floor, not giving himself another moment to hesitate or second-guess himself as he shoved the print out of the _Audible Free Trial_ notice with Derek’s name scrawled across the top in his messy hand under the door. He stared at the bottom of the door for a moment, knowing a single moment of uncertainty before he remembered he was late for work and dashed back for the lift, jabbing his finger hard at the _Ground Floor_ button.

 

*

 

 Stiles loved his old Jeep, not just because it was his mom’s but because it was one of the few constants in his life that had always been there. With all the bills that piled up after his mother died, they’d been forced to move out of the house he’d been born and lived in for the first nine years of his life and so that feeling of walking into a space and remembering happier times wasn’t a luxury he had often. But every time he started it up, he remembered sitting in the front passenger seat of the Jeep as his mom drove it back and forth as a kid. He loved it; it was a source of happiness, not sadness. That didn’t stop him from cursing it all down the street after the old tin can had failed to start completely on the grocery run.

 

 His phone was dead too. It had been a long slow shift and he’d just wanted to pop into the shop for some essentials to save his dad the trouble. So he couldn’t even ring his dad or a mechanic to help. His mulish mood didn’t improve when the sky started to spit light spatters of rain. There were a few cars driving slowly by and Stiles thought seriously for the first time of what he could realistically do with the Jeep. They just didn’t have the money to keep fixing it.

 

 One of the vaguely familiar kids from down the street from the coffee shop zipped by on his rollerblades, just a little too close, making Stiles jerk to the side and in the process, pull his aching shoulder. It seemed to jar with hot, throbbing pain and Stiles winced, biting back a grunt of pain as the bag that he’d been carrying in that arm spilled to the floor. He cursed, setting the other bag down and rolling his shoulder with a grimace. He wasn’t sure he could carry two big brown bags in one arm. Maybe he could see if he could squash everything into one bag…

 

 “Stiles.”

 

 He lifted his head at the sound of his own name and started a little at the sight of Derek, stooping at his side. Light raindrops clung to his eyelashes and hair, slid over the dark leather of his jacket. Stiles’s heart stuttered then, his lips slightly parted as he realised for the first time just how stunning Derek was. The echo of the sound of his name on those lips for the first time only made it all the more surreal.

 

 Derek wasn’t smiling but his expression looked softer, concerned maybe as he started scooping up some of the spilled groceries and putting them back in the bag. It wasn’t until he glanced back up at Stiles’s face that Stiles realised he hadn’t moved himself, was still staring at Derek.

 

 “Uh,” he said quickly, trying to recover himself, “Thanks. At least it wasn’t the bag with the eggs.” He squeezed his shoulder a final time before reaching his good arm forward to help refill the dropped bag. He caught Derek staring with a frown at his still throbbing, strained shoulder, as if he could see the damaged ligaments. “Yeah,” Stiles said, sheepishly, “it was an injury I got when I was sixteen. Bit of a big deal, I guess. It’s never healed properly.”

 

 It hurt, it really fucking hurt but Derek looked oddly bright on the grey, damp backdrop and it made a little warmth spread in Stiles’s stomach. He swallowed, feeling caught like a bug, exposed in a way he hadn’t been before. He felt his cheeks colouring a little and found his mouth moving in a desperate attempt to distract Derek from Stiles’s reaction to seeing him, really seeing him that way for the first time. He didn’t think he’d ever look at rain in the same way again.

 

 Derek had hold of the recovered bag and Stiles stared at him for a moment before realising Derek was waiting for him to follow.

 

 “Oh,” he said, “oh, right, yeah, cool.”

 

 There was a black Camaro pulled over just beside them with the hazard lights on. Whatever had happened to make Derek struggle with speech hadn’t affected his ability to learn to drive then, Stiles thought, only then remembering that Laura had said it hadn’t been an accident or injury as such. If his problems had started after he was fifteen, after the fire, maybe learning to drive was part of the rehabilitation for him, for Laura? It was easy to slip into prejudices without realising, assuming certain things about Derek’s condition. Stiles mentally berated himself for it.

 

 Stiles slid into the passenger seat and rubbed his cold hands together, settling the bags between his legs in the foot-well. He watched through the windscreen as Derek waited in front of the car for the traffic to clear enough for him to circle round to the driver’s side door.

 

 It looked just as surreal as the moment outside had felt. A light grey sprinkle of rain surrounded Derek and as he moved forward, head tilted slightly to look down the street. Stiles found himself warmed more by the sight of his profile and subtly stubbly jaw than the heater in the Camaro.

 

 It’d never really occurred to him to be interested in guys too. He’d been in hopeless unrequited love with Lydia for so long and after that had grown into a pure solid friendship, inspired by her support after the accident, he’d just been sort of sidetracked. It was hitting him with all the force of the Camaro now though, crashing through the lingering mortification of their first meeting and sending him careening headlong into brand new depths he still couldn’t control. So as soon as Derek had engaged his seatbelt and pulled out into the street, Stiles started talking again, desperate to keep the focus away from what he felt must be the obvious attraction blooming in his chest.

 

 “It’s never been the same since the injury,” he said, “You know, the shoulder? I was meant to be a cop like my dad but with the liability of the old injury and the recurring pain, I couldn’t pass the physical.” He saw Derek’s head twitch in his direction and waved him off with a soft expression. He didn’t want pity. That was something he’d never been able to tolerate. But if anyone could, he thought Derek might be able to understand that.

 

 “It’s fine, I don’t like to let it get to me, I guess? Things happen and your plans for your life change all the time, right? I mean, who knows what I might be doing if my mom was still here.”

 

 He spoke about her freely. It’d been hard, at first, but not talking about her felt like they’d lost her even more and besides which, when he’d started talking about her again, it seemed to help his dad cope better. Now she was as part of his life as she could be, in passing conversation, in pictures all over the apartment. It was her that’d taught him to be so resilient, to be able to cope with things in a positive way.

 

 He cocked his head to see Derek quickly looking back to the road. “I’m sort of on a break, just working at the coffee shop while I figure out what to do with myself. But it’s good work. I like people. Keeps my hands busy too.”

 

 He gestured with his good hand to demonstrate his busy fingers and swore he saw the corner of Derek’s lips twitch a fraction.

 

 “What…?” Derek began, seeming to struggle, fingers clenching around the wheel and then, “you…?”

 

 Stiles frowned, trying to think for a moment before he saw Derek twitch his shoulder illustratively. “My shoulder?” He could’ve breezed straight on into the explanation when he saw Derek dip his head in assent but he pretended not to see the nod, pretended to be looking at the rain on the window as they pulled up to a traffic light.

 

 “Yes. Your shoulder,” Derek repeated.

 

 Stiles looked back to him. “I was out somewhere with my dad, I don’t even remember where now. But there was a man trying to steal this lady’s car. The woman was refusing to get out because her dog was in the back seat. My dad was off duty but he approached him, trying to calm the situation down and the guy hit my dad with the butt of the gun. Yours truly had already circled around and gone to the back of the car and opened it for the dog to run out. As soon as the dog was clear the woman jumped out in a panic. The guy turned and just shot me through the shoulder.”

 

 Derek’s head did jerk to him then and Stiles flailed. “Hey, dude, watch the road!” He swore he heard Derek growl under his breath as he turned his focus back to the road and Stiles, breathing a little faster as Derek wove the car into the next lane to overtake, continued, “I don’t really remember it, only what dad told me. The only evidence really is the scar on my shoulder and this chronic pain that comes back now and again – and the hospital bills of course, which we’re still paying. Just when we were pretty much clear of what was left of the last lot. It’s a pain in the ass but I’m alive, right? And it could’ve been so much worse.”

 

 And then, because his mouth was just rolling and he couldn’t stop himself he added, “it was awkward having to learn to jerk off with my left hand though. It just doesn’t feel right, sometimes I try anyway and it cramps up like a bitch.”

 

 Derek made an odd noise and Stiles realised what he’d just said. He cleared his throat awkwardly and fidgeted in his seat. Suddenly the Camaro was a bit too warm. “Thanks for the ride and the grocery rescue,” he said quickly, “the Jeep died on me and my phone was out of battery so I couldn’t ring for a ride. Crappy time for the shoulder to give out but hey, I’ve never been in a car this nice before.” He patted the dash with his hand and again, thought he saw that almost twitch of a smile.

 

 “The car,” Derek said. There was a small gap, then, “Laura’s.”

 

 Stiles whistled appreciatively. “She must love you a lot, big guy.”

 

 Derek seemed thoughtful for a second, then to Stiles’s surprise he spoke again rather than accepting silence. “When…” He bit the inside of his lip. “Laura…sixteen.”

 

 “When Laura was sixteen,” Stiles agreed, as casually as possible. He saw Derek’s eyes flick to him out of his peripheral vision but Derek seemed to decide not to take offense.

 

 “When Laura was sixteen,” Derek confirmed. “My parents.” He gestured with his hand briefly and Stiles realised Derek was waiting for him to prompt him with the right words. He wondered if this was how he and Laura conversed or if Laura had a different way of trying to get him to communicate. There were probably more professional, effective ways that Stiles didn’t know about. He’d started to read up on it (because of _course_ he had) but speech therapy seemed to be different for different levels of ability and injury. He hadn’t known what would be appropriate for Derek. He hadn’t really felt it his place to ask either.

 

 “Your parents gave it to her when she was sixteen,” Stiles said, “a birthday present?”

 

 Derek nodded. It seemed to be a struggle to be allowing this much but for whatever reason, he was trying. “Then…mine.”

 

 Stiles wished he could ask how it was that Derek understood words being said to him so perfectly but couldn’t form them easily for himself. But then, maybe Derek didn’t know himself. Maybe if he did, it would’ve been easier.

 

 “Like a rite of passage for the Hales,” Stiles nodded, “I got my mom’s Jeep. Dad saved it for me. My mom wanted me to have it. So I get it, it’s nice to have something of theirs, right?”

 

 Derek’s lips moved soundlessly for a moment, his face carrying a ghost of memories, perhaps before he nodded. “Yes.” Again, Stiles expected him to accept the silence, they weren’t that far from the apartment now so it wouldn’t have been awkward for long, but then Derek squeezed his fingers tighter around the steering wheel and murmured, “Thank you.”

 

 Stiles blinked. “Huh? What for? You saved me, buddy.”

 

 “The books,” Derek said.

 

 With a little flush returning to his face, Stiles fidgeted, clasping his knees with his hands to try and force himself to be still. “Oh, well…you know. You seemed to be listening to _Dune_ when I was in the laundry room the other day. Then I realised, you might not get to read much anymore, so you might like it.” He swallowed. “Is…is reading difficult too? Since this all started?”

 

 Derek tensed again. He only nodded this time. It was hard to say in more ways than one, perhaps.

 

 “Do you miss it? You strike me as a bookish sort of guy.”

 

 “Yes,” Derek said. There was so much loaded into that one word. Maybe he appreciated that acknowledgement of his intelligence. He probably didn’t get that often.

 

 Stiles pushed, just a little. “Would you let me help? Maybe?”

 

 “Why?”

 

 That seemed to be one of Derek’s easier words. Maybe he’d asked Laura that countless times when she’d tried to help him. Stiles remembered what Laura said about trust and although he didn’t have the full picture, it wasn’t hard to guess. Everyone knew Kate Argent had been convicted for setting fire to the Hale’s home. Everyone knew how she’d tried to plea insanity, how it’d failed and during transit to prison, the van had somehow been compromised, the guards and Kate all found with their throats ripped out. Freak animal attack when they’d stopped to check the prisoner, the authorities had decided.

 

 It must’ve been pretty hard to trust in humanity and the goodness of people after something like that.

 

 “Some people just wanna help, you know?” he said after a moment, voice a little husky. “I’m not an expert or anything but I can help. I’ve done some research and I know they don’t all match your…uh… _case_ but some of the recovery methods could work for you anyway, maybe?”

 

 Derek didn’t say anything, didn’t even glance away from the road, not until they pulled into one of the parking bays in the area on the ground floor of their building. When the Camaro’s purring engine died, Derek squeezed the steering wheel one last time before releasing it and darting his gaze over to Stiles. His brow was furrowed again. “Why?” he asked.

 

 Stiles licked his lips, studying Derek’s face. Yeah, he was attractive, but that was a whole new realisation to Stiles, who’d only ever really been in love with one girl and Derek, he was probably straight, right? And none of that mattered anyway because he could find someone attractive without wanting to jump their bones. He wondered if Derek could sense his attraction or something, judging by the suspicious gaze he was giving him.

 

 “I…I’m not really a hidden agenda guy,” Stiles said with a shrug, not knowing what else to say to convince him. He wasn’t really sure why he was making this his mission. He just didn’t like seeing people struggle, never had. It’s why he’d wanted to be like his dad and help people by being a cop to start with. It’s why he paid extra attention to the little old ladies that sat in their lonely booths at the coffee shop. “I guess I was just raised to offer my help if I could, that’s all.”

 

 Derek tilted his head a fraction, as if he were listening to something long after Stiles finished speaking. Eventually, he straightened up where he sat. He didn’t move, didn’t say anything but Stiles could see him considering it and leapt in before he could over think it.

 

 “I’ve got some stuff. Come to the coffee shop tomorrow, or whenever, and I’ll show you some of my ideas?” he was vibrating with excitement now, a little too much, he thought. It probably wasn’t the best idea to make Derek feel like a project or something. To his surprise though, there was a flicker of something on Derek’s lips before it was washed away by a resigned look.   

 

 “Not…” Derek licked his lips, “not…” He gestured with his hand but when Stiles only frowned he seemed to get frustrated. He inhaled and tried again. “Home.”

 

 Stiles was about to agree that yes, they were home, but then he realised what a pointless statement that would’ve been. Derek wasn’t an idiot, he was a clever guy that was struggling. For a moment Stiles thought maybe Derek was reminding him to get out of the car, but again that didn’t seem to fit. Derek would’ve got out if he wanted to urge Stiles to do the same. He looked at Derek’s increasingly frustrated face, then it dawned on him.

 

 “Oh!” he said, snapping his fingers. “You want to do this at your house? Sure, whatever. Umm...when do you want me?”

 

 Derek blinked at the statement, unfathomable eyes roving Stiles’s face for a moment. Stiles fidgeted, a little embarrassed under the scrutiny, which seemed to help Derek recover himself. “You…” Derek finished with a gesture that clearly meant for Stiles to choose, but Stiles had already realised that Derek seemed to try and avoid talking if he could, which might’ve been part of the problem. So Stiles waited.

 

 Derek set his jaw. Maybe he knew what Stiles was doing because he frowned at him the whole time he struggled. “Come. My home.”

 

 “Come to my home,” Stiles said simply and Derek tensed for a second.

 

 “Come to my home,” he agreed.

 

 “When? Tonight? Tomorrow? Friday?”

 

 Derek blinked. “Friday.”

 

 Stiles wondered how this worked, if Derek actually knew the days of the week still and just struggled to say them, or if he didn’t know which days went with what. He thought he knew and couldn’t say them, if what he’d experienced so far was any indication. It was bizarre. It was like he knew all the words but lacked the ability to fit them together when he went to speak.

 

 “I have a shift Friday so I’ll come by after, about lunch time,” Stiles said. He reached between his knees for the bags and winced when his shoulder protested at him pulling it. He’d almost forgotten.

 

 “I can,” Derek said as he snatched the already once fallen bag up and getting out of the car.

 

 The ride up in the lift was quiet. Stiles opened his front door feeling very self conscious, especially when Derek walked in behind him and set the bag down on the counter. Their apartment was relatively tidy for a place where two men lived. He and his dad had gotten into a good routine over the years, but he couldn’t help but feel exposed as Derek glanced around, like Stiles’s innermost secrets were written on every family photo or trinket.

 

 But then Stiles realised, Derek was looking because he and Laura didn’t have many of those things themselves. There were a few newspaper clippings and photos in their living room that Stiles had glimpsed but not many. He wondered if his sadness at that realisation was that obvious because Derek glanced at him suddenly, seeming thoughtful.

 

 “This is home,” Stiles said brightly, to fill the silence, coming toward Derek to set his own bag on the counter. He pulled open one of the cupboards under the counter, starting to put things away without using his bad shoulder too much. He’d take some ibuprofen once he’d had something to eat, that’d help with the inflammation at least. “Do you want like…a coffee or something? I buy the beans from the shop at staff discount. I think that’s why dad loves me working there, if I’m honest.”

 

 When he straightened up, Derek was exactly where he’d left him but he felt closer somehow. Stiles’s lips were still slightly parted and he couldn’t help his eyes flick over Derek’s light stubble, his mouth, his eyes, the latter of which fixed on him as if he too were just realising how close they were.

 

 “Umm,” Stiles began, fixated on Derek’s mouth again. _Look away_ , he urged himself. _Jesus Christ, look away_! It was like that realisation in the street had set his tenacious mind on a spiral, as if his mind were drinking in every inch of Derek to try and confirm if this was real or not, if this was how he felt.

 

 Derek’s brow furrowed again but he didn’t pull away, as if the thing causing him pause were internal. Perhaps another struggle for the right words because Stiles saw his mouth part as if to form them, right as the front door opened.

 

 Sheriff Stilinski paused on the threshold, looking between Stiles and Derek with confused surprise.

 

 “Yo, daddio,” Stiles greeted with embarrassment.

 

 “Stiles,” Noah said in an almost accusing tone, then more friendly, “Derek, good to see you, son.”

 

 Beside Stiles, Derek nodded, taking a step back from Stiles and then another. “Sir,” he greeted, giving Stiles a single considering look before heading toward the door. He nodded again at the sheriff to bid his departure before vanishing out the door. When it was closed behind him, the sheriff levelled Stiles with a withering look.

 

 “Stiles,” he said again, warningly.

 

 “Good day?” Stiles asked, going for oblivious as he turned his back to put the rest of the groceries away. Once the two bags had been emptied though and he’d nabbed a few cookies to line his stomach for the ibuprofen, he turned to see his dad sitting at the breakfast bar and _still_ watching him, waiting. “Want one?” Stiles offered, still chewing.

 

 His dad wasn’t moved. “Stiles,” he repeated, “tell me you haven’t been getting pushy with the Hales?”

 

 “I resent that,” Stiles said with offense, “my shoulder gave out on me on the way home and I dropped the groceries.” He nabbed the box of medicine out of the drawer and shook it at his dad for emphasis before downing two dry. “Which reminds me, the Jeep, I’ll need to call a mechanic to pick it up. I couldn’t get it to start no matter what I did. Anyway, Derek was passing and sort of came to my rescue, is all.”

 

 “Uh huh,” the sheriff said, as if he knew he was missing something here, he wasn’t unaware of Stiles’s tendency to equivocate.

 

 “Anyway, we got to talking,” Stiles continued, pouring himself a glass of water to keep his hands busy as he danced around the truth just a little.

 

 “You two got to talking?”

 

 “Yeah-huh. Anyway, so he wants to hear my ideas, you know, to help him,” Stiles finished sipping his water as he finally met his dad’s gaze.

 

 “Stiles,” his dad said again, tired and wary, resting his chin on his hand as he regarded him. “I know you’ve got a good heart, kid. And I believe you want to help him but you just have this way sometimes of…” He grimaced, “sort of pushing people too hard. He’s been through a lot, just remember that.”

 

 Joking aside, Stiles nodded seriously now. “Dad,” he began gently, “I know. I…I will, I promise.”

 

 The sheriff smiled slightly, pushing up from his chair with a little nod. “Good, and Stiles?”

 

 His name was starting to sound very ominous from his dad today, Stiles thought.

 

 “What I saw just now,” his dad gestured a little toward the side of the kitchen Stiles and Derek had occupied when he’d returned home, “I’m going to forget about it and I think you should too, alright?”

 

 “Nothing to forget,” Stiles said easily, smiling when his dad gave him a suspicious glance before heading into his room to change.

 

  _Nothing at all,_ Stiles thought, only that maybe he realised that guys just might be pretty nice in _that_ way, in general and Derek Hale definitely was overall. In a little bit of a gay way. Maybe. Or bisexual, if that was the word for a nineteen year old who’d only ever wanted one girl and now apparently just wanted one guy. That was the right word, right? He stared at his half-full glass of water as if it held all the answers. He’d always loved porn and the idea of sex, what teenage boy didn’t? But he’d never really gone after anyone except Lydia, not even when his love had turned into something else in the wake of her support after the accident.

 

 Was it possible to be a little bit gay and not realise? Maybe he was just the sort of guy that went for people, specifically, instead of genders as a whole? Was that normal? Maybe he was just a little bit gay. Maybe. Bisexual probably seemed the best term to identify him. He wasn’t sure. It wasn’t like he’d ogled guys in the locker room or double-checked them as they walked down the halls when he was at school. He’d never found himself looking more at the guy than the girl in porn, or vice versa. To be honest it was all pretty good. It all turned him on, but then, he was nineteen, a stiff breeze could turn him on, right?

 

 He’d always appreciated all of it, the whole package had got him off, the guy with the girl, the girl with the guy. It was all pretty good as far as he was concerned. He’d never really lusted after anyone the way some of the other guys at school had, but then, he’d not really had the opportunity to explore it. It’d all been about recovery and making the most of things after his shoulder was busted. He’d been out of commission for a while after all.

 

 Even so, if he found guys attractive that would’ve been something he’d have known about himself by now, surely? With a frown, he dithered in the kitchen for a while before heading to his room. He had a few hours until his dad emerged from his post early shift nap and some gay porn to watch. Purely for educational purposes of course.

 

*

 

 The porn results came in (literally) at about eleven that night, then again at just gone one. They were pretty conclusive. The whole idea of sex and most things related to it were appealing in general, but yeah, he’d looked just as much at the dicks as he had at the ladies they were going into. Then he’d looked a whole lot at the men they were going into on _GayTube_ and its affiliates.

 

 How had he not known this about himself? He found himself still wondering that at just gone noon on Friday as he stared at himself in the mirror in the staff toilet at work, totally not wondering if he should pop home to change the red hoodie for the blue one. So he was maybe just a tiny bit gay, at least half, that didn’t mean he had to stereotype and obsess over clothing. He scowled at his reflection for even thinking it and headed out the door for the walk home, thanks to his Jeep still being in the shop. Stereotypes of any kind were so not cool.

 

 Clichés though, those he couldn’t avoid. He couldn’t help but notice his reflection on the way up in the lift, with the folder he’d put together over the last few days clamped to his chest with his good arm, putting as little strain on his still tender shoulder as possible. He was still fighting the urge to run a hand through his hair as he knocked on the door of the top floor apartment. Maybe he was also a little flushed when the door opened and Laura stood there, looking rushed and very surprised to see him.

 

 “Stiles?” she asked, twisting some small diamond studs in her ears as she spoke. She was in a hurry, Stiles thought gratefully. She might not notice his fidgety anxiety.

 

 “Err…Derek sort of invited me over,” he said, lifting the folder, “for a little brainstorming.”

 

 It occurred to him that Derek maybe didn’t have many visitors, because Laura continued to look confused. She glanced back in the direction of Derek’s bedroom, as if contemplating calling him to check if this was the truth, but in the end stood aside to let Stiles in.

 

 “He didn’t mention it,” Laura said with a frown, “well, he said something about you but I didn’t realise…” She glanced at her wristwatch and seemed torn between staying and arriving on time for whatever she was dressed so smartly for. “I’ve got an appointment across town at one. I really need to get moving. Will you guys…?” She rubbed her lips together hesitantly. “Derek’s in his room. I think he was getting changed after his workout so just give the door a knock and he’ll be out. He’ll know it’s you.” She hesitated a moment more before dashing out of the door and closing it carefully behind her.

 

 Stiles stood in the open living area for a moment, Laura’s whirlwind exit fanning his anxious dash up here and leaving him reeling. In perpetual motion as ever, he let it carry him to the door he’d seen Derek appear from the first time he was here and knocked. No sooner had his knuckles rapped on the door than it opened, revealing Derek standing there. His hair looked slightly damp but he was in dry, fresh clothes. Right, he’d been working out, Laura had said.

 

 Stiles powered on ahead to chase the image from his head before he could focus on it.

 

 “Hey,” Stiles greeted brightly, gesturing to the folder in his grasp. “So I brought my ideas. You wanna do this out here, or…?” He couldn’t help but let his gaze rove over Derek’s room. It was oddly clean but otherwise pretty unremarkable. There were DVDs all along one wall, a chest of drawers, shelving, built in wardrobes and a large double bed all in dark grey wood. He couldn’t help but notice that Derek’s room was on the same side as his was also, backing onto the fire escape.

 

 What caught Stiles’s attention though was the all-too familiar bedspread. His face felt uncomfortably hot when he realised Derek had caught him looking too. Those eyebrows were far too expressive. “Ha, sorry, just, admiring my work,” Stiles mused, gesturing to the bed. He wanted the ground to open up and swallow him all over again, but at least Derek’s lips had twisted in that almost amused smile. It was perhaps worth a little mortification. Maybe.

 

 “So, uhh, in here? Or maybe the kitchen?”

 

 Derek’s lips parted, his whole body moving as he prepared to speak. It was a long moment before he managed, “sofa?”

 

 

 “So the main ideas I got from researching similar situations were these,” Stiles said from the sofa a moment later, opening the folder and spreading the contents out on the coffee table when Derek sat beside him. He told Derek about the simple exercise of maintaining everyday conversation as much as possible. The audiobooks would probably help too, especially if he could get his hands on the written copies of the books to follow along with. “Maybe use a reading app on your phone?” he suggested, casting only a brief glance up to make sure he wasn’t rambling too much or even just being patronising without meaning to. Derek’s face was the same as ever, stoic and unreadable. He didn’t look annoyed though, so Stiles pressed on.

 

 “If Laura is ok with it as well I thought this would be a good idea,” Stiles said, pulling out a thick stack of sticky notes and a black marker. “You know, for around the house? We could go round and say the names of stuff, then whenever you go to use whatever it is, you can read and say the name as you go? I read about that one in some out-patient rehabilitation clinic syllabus.”

 

 Derek looked dubious at that, maybe a little pained. It probably sounded a bit childish to a grown man in his mid twenties. “Hey, c’mon, be breezy,” Stiles mused, “for you it’s all about practice more than anything. There’s nothing stopping you from understanding the words and processing them, it’s just getting them out, right? And a lot of this stuff should help with the reading too.” Before Derek could say anything, Stiles was on his feet, pen and sticky notes in hand. He hurried round the main living space, applying a label to the TV, the sofa, the bathroom door and both Derek and Laura’s bedroom doors, the coffee table, the island, the cupboards, main utensils and appliances.

 

 He was writing the final sticky note for the fruit bowl in the centre of the island when he glanced up and saw Derek half leaning over the worktop, watching him with a pensive expression. Stiles blinked, giving an awkward little half smile as he toyed with the marker in his hand. “Ah, sorry, did I get carried away?”

 

 When Derek didn’t say anything, Stiles put the cap back on the marker and slid it into his jacket pocket, setting the _‘fruit bowl’_ label in place a little self-consciously. As he made to pull his hand away, Derek’s shot out so quickly to cover his that Stiles jumped.

 

 “I…” Derek seemed to be chewing around the right word, probably recalling the sparse pieces of conversation Laura had managed to have with him. Stiles wondered if Laura realised how Derek tried to avoid speaking where possible.

 

 “Sorry,” Derek managed and Stiles quirked his lips in response.

 

 “No worries big guy, you’re just like, mega stealthy, like a jaguar or a cuttlefish or something.”

 

 Derek smiled then, all amusement and warmth and it made Stiles’s chest tighten a little. “Fish?”

 

 “Hey, they change colour for camouflage they are _wicked_ stealthy,” Stiles insisted, “I did a paper on them in fifth grade.”

 

 Holy hell, Derek’s smile was subtle but catching and his hand still covered Stiles’s. Derek seemed to realise this at the same time because he looked down at their hands and carefully released him.

 

 “Thank you.” Derek met Stiles’s gaze then, eyes lifting briefly, then fully after that first cautious glance, locking them together in a way that seemed more intimate than touching.

 

 Stiles swallowed and he swore he saw Derek track the movement of his throat. He had a feeling Derek wouldn’t always be so grateful, Laura had warned him he had a temper when trying to learn, after all. Stubborn. Well, Stiles could be stubborn too. He exhaled, maybe a little too unsteady and his heart a little too rapid.

 

 “You’re welcome. So, let’s go round and do the sticky notes first, then we can maybe try and find some matching books and unabridged audiobooks so you can follow along? Then I did some other research about flashcards and also…” He stopped talking when he realised he was starting to ramble. Right. _One thing at a time,_ Stiles tried to remind himself.

 

 Derek had nodded in agreement.

 

 The first test, Stiles thought. He bit the inside of his mouth before he spoke. “No, c’mon. I know it’s easier to just nod and stuff but it’ll help if you start trying to answer.” He saw Derek’s frown before it really got the chance to overcome the warm expression and added quickly, “I know it’s a pain in the ass, but the more you do it, the quicker and more fluent you’ll get.”

 

 Derek’s brows drew together in a scowl, more aimed at himself than Stiles, Stiles thought.

 

 “Yes. Books and…” He gestured in annoyance, at the yellow label stuck to the fruit bowl.

 

 “Sticky notes,” Stiles reminded, flippantly as if it weren’t something important, as if he weren’t really paying attention, hadn’t noticed Derek struggle. That seemed to be the method to take, pretending he hadn’t noticed how hard it was, because rather than scowl and stare Derek immediately repeated.

 

 “Books and sticky notes.”

 

 “Yep,” Stiles said bouncing on his toes, eager to get started. He pointed at the particular sticky note in question. “We’ll go round a few times so you can try to remember everything and then you can repeat them on your own whenever you go to use something. Right, so, ‘fruit bowl’.”

 

*

 

 It wasn’t that he was lying to his dad about where he was going, it was more like he avoided telling him. If his dad found out or asked directly then, fine, it wasn’t like some dark secret. For now though he just wanted to avoid the awkward turn the conversation would inevitably take when his dad saw the feelings that were beginning to bloom after each visit upstairs.

 

 It’d been a few weeks and on his last visit, Stiles had labelled some other items in the apartment. If Laura asked what Derek was doing every time he said an item’s name aloud as he used it, Derek never mentioned it. As far as Stiles could tell, Derek was doing well with the books as well, although he didn’t yet to witness much of that.

 

 There was definitely an increase in the vocabulary, however small, and Stiles would never admit it aloud, maybe not even to himself but his favourite word that still made him smile (in that infuriatingly goofy way Scott did for Kira) was the sound of his own name. He’d grinned like an idiot when Derek started the tradition of coming in while he was on shift to order a different coffee each time. It was always the same, the warm, “Stiles,” a not-quite-smile and a squinting look at the board above the counter. Maybe reading hadn’t suffered as bad as speaking? He wasn’t sure if that was possible, he was far from an expert in this sort of thing but that’s how it appeared anyway.

 

 It took a few visits before Stiles realised Derek was having the next coffee down on the list each time. So he knew what Derek was staring at, trying to decipher. “Caramel Hot Chocolate?”

 

 “Care…”

 

 “Caramel,” Stiles said gently. Derek’s brow twitched down a fraction, but it was only with minor irritation as his lips parted to repeat it again. Before he could speak however, a low groan of impatience sounded behind him.

 

 “Come on, Jesus Christ, fucking retard…”

 

 Stiles’s head whipped to the side to take in the man who’d spoken, a clean cut businessman by the look of things, staring at his wristwatch, apparently not even bothering to watch the reaction to his thoughtless words. “Hey,” Stiles called him out, face flushing with anger. “Who the hell do you think–?”

 

 He cut off as Derek himself turned ominously slow to face the man. Stiles dashed around the side of the counter, only to find himself too late. Derek shoved the man back with a snarl.

 

 “What are you doing you fucking idiot?!” the man exclaimed. “Let go of me!”

 

 Derek looked dangerously calm but when Stiles reached him, he saw eyes that were wild. Stiles grabbed his arm as it rose to strike, the jerk forwards hauling him in close to Derek, who froze at Stiles’s touch. Their eyes met. Stiles’s breath caught as, for a second he swore he saw gold flash there. The moment hung suspended and still between them until Derek tugged back, letting the businessman fall and putting distance between him and Stiles.

 

 Stiles watched, rooted to the spot in as the businessman scrambled to his feet.

 

 “You’re crazy!” he declared, flushed red with humiliation as everyone watched. “I’ll–”

 

 “Do nothing. You’re banned, jackass!” Stiles snapped. If his boss complained about his decision, he’d deal with it later. “This is a family place. That type of language isn’t acceptable.” When the guy just looked dumbstruck, staring around him at the rest of the customers who had gone silent, then back at Stiles, Stiles stepped forward into his space. “Get out,” he enunciated darkly, pointing at the door.

 

 “I’ll be putting a complaint to your manager about this,” the man snarled as he moved to the door.

 

 Stiles lifted his chin in defiance. “My manager is even less tolerant than me, I assure you,” he said with an insistent jerk of his thumb toward the door. Erica had dealt with her own stigma over the years, she’d have his back. He watched the man leave, muttering under his breath all the while and slowly but surely, the shop began to return to its normal bustle. Stiles looked around, not wanting Derek to be the centre of attention and gave a grateful smile to Danny for manning the counter, before hooking Derek’s elbow and drawing him to the side.

 

 “Look I…I get off in half hour, will you wait for me?” Stiles asked quietly. “I’ll bring you your drink?” He could see Derek vibrating with rage and humiliation still and didn’t want him to leave, didn’t want to let him walk away with this shadow looming over him. It just felt wrong somehow. He felt like if he let Derek go alone now, he’d do nothing but brood and second-guess his attempts at venturing outside his comfort zone again.

 

 When Derek still seemed tense, every muscle in his body tight as if preparing for another attack, verbal or physical, Stiles stepped closer. He ran his thumb slowly over the crook of Derek’s elbow. The leather of his jacket was supple, letting the contact connect more fully despite the layer between them. Derek’s eyes searched his, looking greener, deeper than usual, softness creeping forward as his body relaxed a fraction.

 

 Stiles gave a hint of a mischievous smile to try and seal the deal. “My Jeep is still in the shop until payday and it’s raining, you could give me a ride home?”

 

 Derek rolled his eyes and sighed. “Yes.”

 

 Stiles gave Derek a bagel on the house with his drink and tried valiantly to avoid looking at him for the rest of his shift. It was bad enough everyone else in the shop kept casting him surreptitious glances. It was dark by the time his relief came in the form of shift change and he felt his sore shoulder ache uncomfortably, his body sag a little as he approached Derek, who was standing by the door, a fresh cup in his hand. It smelled like a gingerbread latte this time and Stiles cracked a smile, feeling a little lighter at the image of Derek drinking his favourite coffee.

 

 “Man, you’re getting a taste for this stuff, huh?”

 

 Derek cocked his head, before holding the cup out to Stiles. “For you,” he said clearly.

 

 Stiles stared at it a moment, dumbstruck. He swallowed, brain taking a moment to catch up to him enough for him to reach out and take the proffered cup. “You know, this one’s sort of my favourite,” Stiles said, feeling his cheeks heat slightly as he sipped, feeling oddly exposed with Derek staring at him, enjoying the small but welcome gift. He didn’t think anyone had ever treated him to coffee except his dad. Lydia had bought him doughnuts sometimes in the past. This wasn’t exactly the same though, at least it didn’t feel that way. _Krispy Kremes_ were all well and good but they didn’t warm him from the inside like his favourite coffee from the guy he most definitely was not developing an inappropriate crush on.

 

 “What’s the occasion?” Stiles asked, distracting from the moment by reaching for the door and holding it open for Derek.

 

 Derek seemed to consider the question for a moment as they walked to the Camaro parked in one of the parking spaces along the line of shops. “You,” he answered, reaching into his pocket for his car keys. He said it so casually, as if it were obvious and Stiles just stood there for a moment staring at the car until the ignition roared into life, startling him into action.

 

 “Thank you, by the way, for the coffee, in case I forgot to say it before,” Stiles said as he climbed in, going for casual, as if people bought him coffee all the time. He didn’t think it was very convincing. He took another deep swig before setting it into the cupholder long enough for him to put his seatbelt on. He didn’t realise he’d winced at the action until he glanced up, coffee back in hand, to find Derek staring at him.

 

 “You… Not…” Derek grit his teeth.

 

 Stiles sipped his coffee again, the hot sweet liquid rejuvenating his senses, focussing his mind. “Relax. It’s harder when you stress about it and over think it, right?”

 

Derek threw him a glare that didn’t faze Stiles in the slightest and gave an almost sub-vocal snarl. “You not doctor,” he said at last. He jerked his head at Stiles’s shoulder to illustrate his point more fully.

 

 “Ah, no, no doctor yet, it’s not that bad, it’s just uncomfortable now, really,” Stiles insisted, focussing on his coffee rather than the searching look Derek was giving him. It was as if Derek was trying to decipher if he was lying or not. “It’s just a dull ache if I don’t stress it out too much. I’ll be fine in a few weeks,” Stiles added. It was mostly the truth. Derek didn’t look convinced but turned his attention to their surroundings as he reversed out of the parking space.

 

 Stiles had greedily finished his coffee by the time they managed to pull onto the main road. It was well after the rush hour so it was quiet, with only a few other vehicles going the opposite direction, that awkward time at night where everyone was either eating dinner or getting ready to go out or still stuck at work.

 

 “Did you and Laura look over that software advertisement I emailed over to her the other day?” he asked as the rain pattered against the windscreen, the car behind them turning off at the junction so they had the road to themselves once more.

 

 “Yes,” Derek said simply.

 

 “So do you think you’ll give it a shot? I read up on it and professional speech therapists use it with their clients. I know you didn’t like the idea of the flashcards but this is the next level of speech rehabilitation. I really think this could help you.” Stiles spoke quickly, scarcely taking a breath until he heard Derek mutter the word _‘flashcards’_ with distaste. Stiles couldn’t help it, he smiled, tucking his empty cup into the cup holder just to give himself something to focus on other than appreciating Derek’s profile in the light from the dashboard.

 

 “It’s an expensive piece of software for good reason, dude, I would’ve bought it for you myself otherwise – that’s how much I want you to give it a shot,” he continued, a little less breathlessly. He saw Derek stealing a glance at him out of the corner of his eye. There was a soft sigh and Stiles knew that was Derek silently relenting. Riding the wave of success he added cautiously, “and let me just have one try with the flashcards.”

 

 Derek scowled at the road ahead.

 

 “If you find it demeaning or whatever we won’t try it again,” Stiles said quickly, “but you don’t have to be embarrassed in front of the guy you caught molesting your bedding.”

 

 He swore he saw the corners of that mouth tugging up in a reluctant smile, even if the frown didn’t completely fade. Stiles gave a snort. “Of course that gets a smile. Funny socially awkward Stiles,” he lamented, secretly pleased. He rested his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes. His shoulder really was sore. It was ridiculous to consider but Beacon Hills’ Sheriff Department’s health insurance hadn’t covered everything after his accident, they hadn’t covered everything after his mother’s time in hospital either. It was enough of a strain back then that it made him hesitate to rely on it again.

 

 He _had_ been doing the exercises (on and off) the last doctor had prescribed but they didn’t improve the low ache. It wasn’t world-altering but it was enough to make him wince most of the time. If after he paid off the Jeep it was still worrying him he’d go to a doctor, he would. It wasn’t a big deal.

 

 When they pulled up at a set of lights, the only car at the junction, Stiles drew in a little breath for bravery. “Can I ask you something?”

 

 Derek tilted his head to look at him.

 

 Stiles bit the inside of his mouth, praying for mercy from his brain-to-mouth filter. “Why did you accept my help?” He couldn’t ask what Derek had gone through to make him this way, he could only assume it was some sort of trauma related to how he’d lost his family. No one had spoken to Derek after the fire, his dad had said, so it was possible. But he couldn’t understand why Derek hadn’t had the help of a professional with his speech, especially if he was able to let someone like Stiles in.

 

  _Laura must have contacts with the best of the best,_ Stiles thought, _I’m just some stupid kid in comparison._

 

 “Trust,” Derek murmured, eyes searching Stiles’s face. He seemed to struggle for a moment, then he said, “trust you.”

 

 “What? Me? Why?” Stiles got the feeling Derek didn’t really trust anyone except Laura. Maybe his dad.

 

 “You…” Derek gestured with his hand in frustration when he couldn’t seem to find the right word, as if hoping Stiles would just get what he meant to say. When Stiles just stared at him, confused, Derek struggled on. “Don’t want. No…” He set his teeth.

 

 Frowning, Stiles watched him sigh heavily.

 

 “You don’t want. Only help,” Derek said at last, looking annoyed with himself for the lack of fluidity to his words.

 

 “I…” Stiles couldn’t help but feel his face flush. Yeah, he wanted alright. He was realising pretty quickly over the last few weeks that he was a bisexual nineteen-year-old virgin that was harbouring a ridiculous crush on the man before him. This man that trusted him. He couldn’t betray that trust. Not ever. So he wanted, yes, but that wasn’t why he was helping. He didn’t expect anything, wasn’t going to try.

 

 “I only want to help you,” he agreed, voice just a little husky as he turned his head to stare straight again. The car suddenly felt so dangerously warm and intimate. He could feel Derek looking at him, feel his face burning. And he swore he heard Derek sniffing subtly. He did that often when Stiles spoke, like he was trying to sniff out the truth or something. It was a little odd but in an endearing way. “Why else would I sit up until three in the morning printing out flashcards from the internet.”

 

 He had a feeling he hadn’t sounded quite as carefree as he’d intended when Derek kept looking at him. Stiles swore he must’ve been able to hear his heart pounding it was thudding against his chest so loud.

 

 The light turned green and Derek pulled forward. “Stiles,” he said, voice low, betraying something that Stiles had never heard before. He cautiously turned his head to see Derek glancing at him. The moment seemed to hang in slow-motion between them, Derek’s lips working around words he couldn’t quite find yet. Words Stiles never got to hear.

 

Suddenly an SUV swerved out in front of them at the junction and Derek slammed on the breaks just inches away from ploughing into its side.

“Shit!” Stiles gasped, braced against the dash, a sharp pain flying up his nape and spine from the sharp jerk. Thankfully they hadn’t had time to build up any speed. “Are you okay?” When he looked at Derek, he was ramrod straight in his seat, knuckles white from where his fingers were clenched around the wheel. His eyes were fixed on the car that had screeched to a halt in front of them. Three of the doors opened and three figures, sharply lit from the headlights of the Camaro made their way towards them.

 

 “Derek?”

 

 Their doors were jerked open and Stiles grunted, struggling to undo his seatbelt lest it strangle him as he was yanked unceremoniously from the car and thrown to the tarmac. He winced, the rough surface biting into his cheek as he landed. A moment later, a thump and a snarl of anger signalled Derek had been born to the ground beside him.

 

 Derek turned his head to meet his gaze, his own gaze flaring dazzling gold in the dimness. Stiles’s breath caught. It was definitely real that time, not just a trick of the light, not just Stiles’s imagination. Eerily familiar to the flash of gold he’d seen by his bedroom window that time, the window he hadn’t opened. The same as he’d seen in his ‘not quite awake’ moments when he woke in the middle of the night sometimes.

 

 Above, two of the three men circled around them where the shorter of them all stood stock still, a shotgun hanging loosely by his side.

 

 Stiles swallowed. Fuck.

 

 “It seems you’re dragging human boys into your problems, Derek,” the old man said, leaning down on one knee so that his lined face was visible, the business end of the shotgun pressing just under Stiles’s chin and urging his head up so their eyes could meet. Stiles forgot how to breathe. The cold eyes staring down at him were almost as icy as the lethal metal pressuring his windpipe.

 

 “Leave him,” Derek snarled, struggling up onto his hands only to be shoved hard back into place. The sharp crackle of a taser hovered warningly over the back of his neck. “Not wolf!” He sounded frantic, helpless, panicked as Stiles had never heard him. It made the blood pound even louder in his ears.

 

 “Still having a bit of trouble getting those words out, aren’t we, Derek?” the man sneered, pushing up a fraction more with the gun so Stiles’s already pained neck strained back. “And you don’t have to be a wolf to be tarred with the same brush as the rest of the pack.”

 

 “What do you want?” Stiles managed, cursing the way his voice shuddered. His answer was a worrying smile that made the man’s eyes crinkle ominously. He moistened his dry lips. _Keep them talking, Stiles,_ his dad’s voice whispered in his mind. _Keep them talking and stay alive until help gets to you._

 

 “Nothing you can give me, dog fucker,” he said lightly, lifting the gun. “Open your mouth.”

 

 Stiles’s eyes widened.

 

 “Gerard,” Derek growled, his voice thick with something dark and inhuman, his fingers, so close to Stiles’s on the ground dug into the tarmac with clawed fingertips. “Leave him.”

 

 Stiles thought he might hyperventilate. If it wasn’t the sound of Derek’s voice so undeniably dangerous, the sight of talons at the tips of his fingers or the pressure of the gun at his neck, it was the way the awkward angle restricted his already laboured breathing. He gasped, heart pounding loudly in his ears. He couldn’t remember if he’d felt like this when he was shot before. That had been so quick, no time to be afraid. He didn’t really remember any of it. Not like this. He’d never been so afraid in all his life. Even when his mother had died it was a different feeling, not this piss-his-pants fear that made his bones weak.

 

 What the fuck was going on?!

 

 “Derek?” he breathed without really parting his lips.

 

 “Open your damn mouth, boy!” Gerard snapped and Stiles squinted his eyes shut to hide the fact that they were stinging with a glassy film. _Stay alive until help gets to you. Buy yourself time, whatever it takes._ Slowly, his lips parted.

 

 A howl ripped through the air from beside him. One of the men standing over Derek screamed and Stiles felt himself thrown sideways with Derek’s weight on top of him. Stiles lifted his head in time to see Derek swat the shotgun from Gerard’s hands and send it flying into the darkness. Gerard stumbled. One of the other men snatched up the taser from his fallen comrade and swung at Stiles. Derek whirled round and caught it mid-swing, letting out a roar of pain as electricity flashed ice-blue in the dimness, coursing through his skin.

 

 Stiles swore the very ground trembled. He scrambled back until he was pressed against the side of the Camaro and drew in great heaving breaths. Fuck. _Fuck_! Dashing an arm across his stinging eyes, shaking with adrenaline and shock he kicked out, hard, sending the man wielding the taser stumbling back, just enough for Derek to gather himself.

 

 Derek staggered, slumping against the car beside Stiles and throwing an arm out across Stiles’s chest to hold him still, his chest heaving, sweat beading across his temples.

 

 “Derek?” Stiles managed breathlessly. “Derek we have to-” He cut off as a howl that definitely didn’t come from Derek this time pierced the air. Stiles watched Derek relax against the car, all except for the arm across Stiles’s chest. Stiles looked up to see Gerard’s face twist with irritation.

 

 “We don’t have the amps to deal with an alpha. Get to the car,” Gerard demanded of his men, without taking his eyes off Derek. “You think calling your sister like a whelp will save you, don’t you boy? Maybe that’s why she was raised as the alpha successor and not you?” The howling was right there now. Right there. Gerard didn’t even flinch. “You’re still just a boy, powerless to stop the inevitable. But when it happens, Derek, it’ll all start with you, just like before.”

 

 With a snarl, Derek’s hold on Stiles tightened a fraction more and Stiles glanced his way to see his face utterly changed, morphed with hair, ridges and fangs. His breath caught in his throat and then the howling stopped, shifting into a ravenous snarl as a huge dark brown beast lunged into sight. A bear, Stiles was sure of it, but the snarling didn’t sound like one. It made all the blood pounding in Stiles’s ears chill like ice.

 

 Gerard vanished, the squeal of tyres signalling his departure. Then all Stiles was aware of was the bear with glowing red eyes striding towards them. No, not a bear. A _wolf._ Stiles’s body seized up, but the arm over his chest dropped and Derek’s eyes slid shut. The wolf had the colouring and size of a grizzly but there was no mistaking what it was now. As his panic skyrocketed, Derek’s body succumbed to relief beside him.

 

 Stiles dropped his gaze on instinct. You weren’t meant to make eye contact with a wolf, were you? Or was that just dogs? He wasn’t sure what else to do in the face of a creature far more terrifying than a shotgun but closing his eyes was a mistake. The second he drew his knees up and covered his face with his hands, the shock rang through him, the memory of the shotgun against his slowly parting lips.

_Oh my God._

 

 “Stiles?” Derek’s voice was distant, almost echoing.

 

 Stiles squeezed his eyes shut as they watered and it became harder and harder to breathe.

_Oh my_ God _._

 

 “Stiles? Stiles?!”

 

 His body was throbbing, all the way up his neck and back, his cheekbone where he’d hit the ground. He was shaking, his chest was heaving but there was no air to pull into his lungs.

 

 “Stiles,” a new voice, a softer one, soothing and almost hypnotising. Vaguely familiar. “Stiles, look at me.”

 

 When his lids fluttered on instinct at those words, he found two piercing eyes with crimson irises perilously close to his face. Two soft hands gripped his cheeks and the pain ebbed away into the warm palms. Laura Hale smiled, her face as warm as her skin and voice. “That’s it, breathe. Count with me, back from ten. Ten. Nine. Eight…”

 

 Stiles followed her instruction clumsily, every slurred pronunciation of each number easier to form as the pain slowly vanished into nothing at her touch. What the hell was happening? He felt giddy and limp, almost separated from his body. It wasn’t just the lack of pain, it was the warmth that filled his senses in its place, the oddly calm but insistent tone of Laura’s voice. By the time he made his way past one, he was breathing heavily, but definitely breathing and her warm hands left his cheeks, body shifting back just enough so that she could lift him into the passenger seat of Derek’s car.

 

“Get in the back, Derek,” she said gently. “We’ll drive him home.”

 

 “Laura,” Derek began, as Stiles felt an embarrassingly naked Laura Hale buckle his limp, useless body into the car.

 

 “Not now. I’ll drive, come on.”

 

 

 She must’ve snagged some spare clothes out of Derek’s car or something because the next thing Stiles knew, he was being laid back on his bed and Laura was wearing one of Derek’s shirts, hanging just long enough on her to cover everything above mid-thigh. He blinked at the lights from the hall and stared up as Laura backed away, silhouetted in the doorway along with his dad.

 

 “…took his pain, maybe a little too much,” Laura said to his father, “He’ll be a bit light-headed from the alpha voice and his cheek may ache tomorrow but he’s got no lasting injuries. Luckily the car wasn’t going too fast, Derek was just pulling away from the lights…”

 

 Derek was standing beside his bed, staring down at him with a frown on his face. Stiles blinked up at him, thinking with a detached sort of realisation that Derek had seen him cry earlier. “Can you turn into a big grizzly wolf thing too?” Stiles asked, his voice slurred and head fuzzy.

 

 “Not now. Before.” Derek’s voice was so quiet, so soft and slightly husky.

 

 Stiles nodded as if this made sense even though it didn’t. This was just the tip of the iceberg of things that made no sense but his head was light and warm and he felt so good. Tired but good. Nothing hurt, not even his busted cheek or sore shoulder. “Show me?” Stiles mumbled.

 

 The frown between Derek’s brows deepened and Stiles watched with detached sleepiness as Derek lifted his arm just enough to drag his thumb lightly beneath the scuff on Stiles’s cheek. Stiles closed his eyes and knew no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for Chapter Two: a discussion of how Stiles got his injury and Stiles doing his thing and making light of it. Also warning for later endangerment by firearms that may trigger some (but no one gets hurt don't worry).


	3. Werewolves and Anchors

_Author's Note:_ A fair bit of talking between Stiles and Derek in this. Thank you again for the support I've received, like I've said, this story is a sort of challenge for me as it's quite different to what I usually write, so I'm so grateful you're all enjoying it.

 

* * *

 

 

**Chapter Three**

**_Werewolves and Anchors_ **

 

 

 

 Stiles squinted up at the window as he woke and jerked upward, panic pulsing through him at the sight by the window. It was clearly light outside, but the blind was pulled down tight over his window so that his bedroom was left mostly in darkness. There was only the softest light and a pair of bright golden eyes in the same place he always saw them by the window in those moments where he was sure he wasn’t quite awake. He knew he wasn’t dreaming now.

 

 As his heart slowly stuttered back to its normal rate, Stiles shifted further up the bed until he was completely upright against the headboard. A glance down showed someone had dropped his duvet over him while he’d slept. When he looked back up, the golden eyes were still there but his own eyes had adjusted enough to make out who they belonged to. It all came flooding back.

 

 “I wasn’t dreaming,” Stiles murmured groggily, running his hands over his face, through his dishevelled hair in an effort to gather his scattered senses. “How long have you been sneaking into my room to watch me sleep like a creeper?” When he looked up, Derek stepped forward so that Stiles could better make him out in the dimness. His face was unreadable. Stiles sighed. “I knew I saw your eyes by my window. I thought I was going crazy.”

 

 Derek winced, turning his head down and to the side in an effort to hide his eyes. When he lifted his head again, they must’ve been their usual green-grey because they looked normal to Stiles in the low light.

 

 “Hey, uh…you don’t have to do that, you know, hide from me,” Stiles said.

 

 Derek blinked, staring at him with a hint of disbelief creeping through his mask. “You…sleep long,” he said with a frown, evidently knowing it wasn’t quite right.

 

 Stiles looked back to his side table to see it was just coming up to seven in the morning. He grasped at it, flailing slightly as he scrambled to reach it, stare at it for a second. “Holy crap,” he breathed. He wasn’t a stranger to lay-ins but his sore shoulder hadn’t let him enjoy the luxury for a while now. But his body was completely ache-free. He frowned down at himself.

 

 “Stiles?”

 

 “I…I don’t hurt anywhere. My shoulder usually gives me some jip, gets stiff sometimes if…” He trailed off with a frown. “Why don’t I hurt anywhere? From the car? From hitting the ground?” He reached up to touch his cheek but Derek’s hand caught his wrist, intercepting it. Stiles found himself staring up at him, at those intense eyes that seemed to shine in the dark even without the unnatural gold glow. Derek was still for a moment, mind almost visibly reeling before he reached forward and slowly dragged his thumb just under Stiles’s cheekbone.

 

 “No pain but…still hurt,” Derek murmured. “I got you hurt.”

 

 Stiles felt his breath catch. He could feel Derek’s breath on his face, his mouth hovering just above him. Just like last night his heart was racing and he couldn’t breathe but for an entirely different reason. Slowly, he reached up to cover the hand Derek had on his cheek with his own. “Derek,” he began, voice low and rough.

 

 Derek’s eyes swam with heat then. His nostrils flared as if he were drinking in Stiles’s scent and his eyes flashed briefly. He drew back with such reluctance that Stiles could practically taste it in the air between them. Derek winced. “Laura,” he said, then when he didn’t seem to have the right words in his repertoire, he gestured to his ear.

 

 Stiles blinked, coming back to himself, to the moment, to everything that had happened since last night. “Laura can hear us?” At Derek’s nod, he leaned forward on the edge of the bed with his elbows on his knees, staring at his bare feet. He wondered who had taken the time to take off his shoes last night. “Last night,” he began uncertainly, watching his toes twitching in the carpet so close to Derek’s booted feet. “That old guy, he said Laura was an ‘alpha’, he was afraid of her and when she turned up, she…” He drew in a shaky breath. “Jesus did I get some sort of brain damage from hitting my head on the tarmac last night or did your sister shift into some giant grizzly bear sized wolf?”

 

 Derek glanced at the bedroom door, which was closed. “Laura…” he gestured with frustration, “talk better. For you. Understand.”

 

 Stiles frowned. Yeah it would make sense. Laura could explain a lot of things so much better, she had more words readily available, but that felt like indulging Derek’s desire to escape the difficult situation, or worse, implying that Derek _couldn’t_ explain this. Besides…

 

 “No,” he said softly, looking up at Derek. “No, I want you to.”

 

 Derek blinked, looking surprised, pleasantly so though. He turned, walking a few feet toward the window until he was silhouetted against the soft early morning light coming in through the blind. “Wolves. Laura. Me. Family.” He didn’t turn to face Stiles.

 

 “Wolves like…werewolves?” Stiles asked. Derek nodded and Stiles folded his fingers together between his knees. “Right that…that old guy, he called me human, as if you weren’t.” His mind was racing. He’d call it to question, accuse Derek of bullshitting him but he’d _seen_ Derek’s eyes change, he’d _seen_ that impossibly enormous wolf turn into Laura Hale. Holy shit. He dragged his long fingers over his face. “This is real, isn’t it, this is really real?” he asked, low, fast. He heard and saw movement out of his peripheral vision and looked up again to see Derek was staring at him, concern etched into those dark, furrowed brows.

 

 “Real. Yes,” Derek said. “Not…”

 

 “Crazy?” Stiles offered with a self-deprecating smile.

 

 “No,” Derek said. He lowered himself down onto his knees in front of Stiles, eyes imploring, still concerned but something else too, something that made Stiles’s heart skip as Derek looked up at him and said earnestly, “You… You’re fascinating.”

 

 Stiles wasn’t sure if he had the right word, or if he meant it that way but it was all the more meaningful because of that somehow, because of the effort it required from him to say it.

 

 “You’re the one from a family of werewolves,” Stiles mused. The lightness in his tone made the little furrow in Derek’s brows ease slightly. “So…do I remember it right, that you said you could turn into a wolf too? Like Laura?”

 

 Derek’s expression flickered oddly. “Yes, before,” he said carefully, guardedly.

 

 Stiles hesitated. “Before the fire?”

 

 “Yes. One after only.”

 

 “Once after?” Stiles clarified. When Derek nodded darkly, Stiles’s eyes widened and he sat back so he could look at Derek fully. Jesus Christ. “Oh my God,” he whispered, holding Derek’s gaze. “That’s it, isn’t it? That’s why you have to relearn speech? It’s got something to do with the one time after the fire, right?”

 

 Derek grit his teeth, muscles bunching as if to rise but Stiles reached for him, grabbing Derek’s wrist to still him.

 

 “Derek,” he murmured beseechingly. When he felt Derek’s muscles relax in his captured arm he scanned his face carefully. He looked tired. Just how long had he been watching him sleep? “Derek, what happened to you?”

 

 “Stuck. I. Stuck. After fire,” Derek grit out, averting his gaze as if he was ashamed to admit it.

 

 For some reason it struck Stiles then, why he’d been allowed into Derek’s secluded, lonely world. Derek had been isolated by his own misery, but wolves were pack animals and he’d wanted so badly to feel the comfort of human kindness, to indulge in company, in talking and touching. It was as obvious as the sun that he’d yearned for companionship other than that of his sister, he’d wanted to trust Stiles so badly and so, when he’d apparently sensed his trustworthiness, his genuineness, he’d opened like the wilting, unsteady hand of a beggar reaching out for whatever kindness a passing stranger could spare.

 

 Stiles was choked by that realisation. How hurt Derek sounded, how vulnerable someone that strong could be. Even though he’d known Derek was struggling with his speech, he hadn’t thought him vulnerable until now, until it was all laid bare for him. Was it odd that this was what he was fixated on? Rather than the fact that Derek was telling him he was a _werewolf_? Maybe it was just the way his brain worked, sidetracked from one problem to another. Or maybe it was his nature, hungrily devouring information and the apparent truth he’d been kept from all this time, like a man starved of water would at a well. Now the stream was flowing he couldn’t stop, he needed to know everything.

 

 Stiles found himself shifting forward against his will, fingers still locked around Derek’s wrist. “Stuck as a wolf?” The way Derek wouldn’t meet his eyes was telling. Stiles wet his dry lips. “For how long?” When Derek didn’t answer, Stiles shifted so close their noses would nearly be touching if Derek looked up. “Derek, how long?”

 

 “Seven.”

 

 “Months?”

 

 Derek lifted his head to face him once more.

 

 Stiles inhaled sharply. “Years?”

 

 There was a small, almost imperceptible nod in answer and Stiles winced, releasing Derek.

 

 “Derek…oh my God,” he whispered. No wonder Laura hadn’t been able to take Derek to see any speech therapists, how would she explain this to them? No wonder Derek’s symptoms or even the way he was recovering, the rate of it didn’t really match to anything Stiles had found in his research. He’d thought he’d just missed something. Evidently he had. A big fucking something.

 

 “You were stuck in the body of your wolf for seven years. Why?”

 

 “Because…” Derek’s lips closed tight after the word, but Stiles thought it wasn’t only because he didn’t have the words to explain himself. Derek drew back again, retreating to the window.

 

 Stiles flew to his feet. “Derek,” he asked with a voice that was stronger than before. “What got you stuck that way?” He stepped toward Derek and when he turned his back on Stiles, Stiles felt a flare of panic, fear, anger, frustration, all of them burst inside him at the same time. He couldn’t stop it. “That guy back there, he called me a ‘dog fucker’. He thought I was something special to you, didn’t he? He was going to kill me, make you watch, then after he’d made you hurt he was going to kill you too, right?” He was talking a mile a minute. Still no answer. He could see Derek going tense and he grabbed his shoulder. “What the hell did he want with you, Derek? Why was he after you?”

 

 “Because it was my fault!!!” Derek snarled, whirling round, making Stiles jump, stumble back. He caught Stiles as he fell but before either of them could say anymore, could process what had been the most complete sentence Derek had ever uttered without hesitation, the bedroom door flew open. They separated to see Noah and Laura framed in the doorway. Stiles found a part of his brain wondering distantly if those words, that sentence had been forming in Derek’s mind for years, probably the only words he’d held onto and that’s why they had come out so flawlessly.

 

 “Derek’s version of events is a little biased,” Laura said, her face weary but her voice strong. She stood back from the door so that the light from the living room beyond spilled into Stiles’s bedroom. “I think we should all talk about this together, it’s been long overdue, wouldn’t you say?”

 

 Stiles didn’t miss the way Laura looked at his dad when he said that. He watched the way they looked at each other as all four of them moved into the living room and it wasn’t until he was sat on the sofa, Derek beside him that it hit him. “You knew,” he said, with a shaky, stunned sort of softness as he stared directly at his dad. “You’ve known about this, the werewolf stuff all along, haven’t you?”

 

 His dad winced in the same way he might, sitting on the arm of the comfy chair closest to him while Laura stood just to his right, her arms folded as she watched the conversation play out.

 

 “Just since the fire,” Noah said almost apologetically. “I was first on scene. I watched Peter Hale crawl out of there with his body twisted into this burned half-wolf creature. Laura had apparently been on her way home to surprise her folks with a visit and when she got there just after me, I watched her throw her head back and howl like an animal, like nothing of this earth as her eyes flashed red.”

 

 Stiles studied the faces of everyone in this room. Werewolves he had been coping with, just getting his head around (it was hard to deny when you’d seen it with your own eyes) but the fact that his dad had known all this, all this time, that he was struggling with. “You helped them cover the supernatural parts of this up, right? That’s why you kept Derek out of it, that’s why you wanted to keep me out of it? In case I found out?”

 

 “Stiles,” his dad began.

 

 “No,” Stiles said, sitting up straight. “No, you didn’t want me to know because you didn’t trust me. I mean, nine years ago, sure, I was a little kid. You did the right thing; you helped them out because you wanted to keep their secret. God knows what the authorities would do with this information, werewolf experiments or…” he shook his head because his mind was racing, unravelling from where he needed it to be. Was he due for his Adderall yet? He felt so messed up.

 

 “Whatever,” he muttered with the shake of his head, “the point is, I get it. And you’re still helping them, right? With something else? Heck, they probably picked this apartment block so they could be close to someone they trusted, am I right?” he directed the question at Laura but ploughed on before she could reply. “My point is you tried to warn me away from them over and over. Now. Like your hyperactive, motor-mouthed son would let something slip.”

 

 “No,” Noah said sharply, looking angry and hurt. “No, you listen here, Stiles. I warned you away from them because there are things going on right now that you don’t understand–”

 

 “I don’t understand them because you’ve been keeping me in the dark!” Stiles cut across him. “But I’m sure as hell getting the clearer picture now.” He cut his glance to Derek. “You guys are werewolves. Laura is some super wolf called an alpha that can hypnotise people and take their pain, make their brains fuzzy–”

 

 “It wasn’t hypnosis,” Laura said, her voice firm but calm, with the kind of commanding nature that made Stiles still in his tirade. She shifted forward a fraction. “I took your pain and alphas, they have the ability to…suggest things. It’s not mind control, it can’t be used to direct another’s body it only has the power to calm pack members. When we were kids my mother, she was the alpha before me, she used to use it on us to help us calm when the full moon made us lose control. Until we learned control ourselves. She used to call it the alpha voice.”

 

 Stiles stared at her. His mind was still reeling from everything it was struggling to take in, but for some reason that one particular word stuck in his head. He swallowed. “Pack?” he asked hoarsely.

Laura cocked her head and gave a subtle smile. “You and your dad have been part of our pack for a long time, Stiles, whether you realise it or not.”

 

 Stiles risked a glance to his side, to Derek and found his throat swelling at the sight of those eyes fixed on him. He felt as if he were stripped naked in front of everyone with those eyes on his. It was too good and too much all at once and he realised then that Derek probably knew as much. “So…you guys, you have like…heightened sense of smell and hearing or something?” he asked, knowing the answer would confirm if Derek knew or not.

 

 Derek nodded slowly. “And eyes, a bit,” he clarified, his expression betraying it.

 

 Shit, yeah he knew alright.

 

 Stiles looked away quickly, blushing. “And you can change in to wolves? But it wasn’t a full moon or anything last night, right?”

 

 Laura’s lips twitched at the corners in the same way that Derek’s did sometimes. It didn’t help to still Stiles’s heart any. “Not all werewolves can become full wolves. Most just have this…halfway _Wolf Man_ looking shift but our mother could fully change and so can Derek and I. I can shift back and forth at will, have been able to since I was a teenager. Derek too.” She gave Derek a look when he grunted in disagreement. “Derek hasn’t though, not since he was… _unstuck_.”

 

 Stiles carefully _didn’t_ look at Derek. He thought that was pretty fair, to be honest. If he’d been stuck as a wolf he’d be quite reluctant to want to try to even visit the shape, in case it happened again. When he emerged from his thoughts his dad was pushing a cup of coffee into his hands and giving him that tired, apologetic smile. Stiles answered with a similar one of his own and sipped the beautifully over-sugared elixir.

 

 “Getting stuck,” he asked, when he’d drunk half the mug and felt a little more like himself, a little more focussed. “Derek said…”

 

 Laura cut him off with a sigh, taking her own coffee from Noah. “Derek believes that he was stuck in his wolf shape as punishment for what happened,” she said, fingers wrapping around her mug as she brought it to her lips. “In my opinion, he was stuck because he felt guilty for what happened. Because he _felt_ he deserved to be punished.”

 

 Beside Stiles, Derek tensed, setting down his own coffee.

 

 “Like…trapped by his own mind, almost?” Stiles asked.

 

 “No!” Derek snapped, going to rise to his feet. It was just like before, in the Hale’s kitchen, when Stiles and Laura had talked about the situation and Derek had lost patience with being talked about as if he weren’t there. But that wasn’t what this was. This was just Stiles needing questions answered and Derek not having the words to answer him. Hadn’t he said himself that Laura should be the one to explain? Before Stiles could say all that, however, Laura snapped.

 

 “Derek, sit down.”

 

 Derek froze.

 

 Stiles got the impression Derek wasn’t used to Laura commanding him like that, like an alpha.

 

 “Don’t be so tetchy. Stiles is involved in this now, he needs to know. You wanted me to explain, right?”

 

 Derek growled under his breath, honest to God growled and sank back into the sofa, turning his scowl off to the side.

 

 “Derek,” she said a bit more softly. “I don’t have to, if you’d rather I–”

 

 “Do it,” Derek snarled under his breath.

 

 Laura gave him a glare of her own before looking back to Stiles again. “Well, Stiles your dad already knows pretty much everything but Derek was…tricked by Kate Argent. She manipulated him to get information out of Derek, probably enough to confirm we were wolves but as far as we can tell, it was nothing she wouldn’t have figured out on her own, anyway.” Her face softened, focussed solely on her brother as she said gently, “Derek feels responsible, that she set fire to our house even though she would’ve done it anyway. She got close to him so she’d have an excuse to have her scent all over the woods near our house, so she could snoop without her real motive being discovered before it was too late.”

 

 Stiles frowned. “But Derek was like, what? Fifteen or something? Kate Argent was a grown woman and he was just a kid!” He turned to look at Derek in disbelief. “Derek, you were a kid. How were you meant to know she was manipulating you? God, that’s why there’s a _law_ against this kind of thing, because you can’t be held accountable, because you were a child who was being lured in with kindness and affection. How can you think what she did was your fault?”

 

 Derek didn’t look at him, was suddenly very busy with the cup in his hands, which was shaking slightly.

 

 “Stiles,” his dad said gently, setting his hand on his son’s arm briefly. When Stiles met his gaze, he gave his head a subtle shake. _Leave it be for now,_ it clearly said.

 

 “I’ve told Derek all that, of course, maybe now he’ll start to believe me. He respects you,” Laura said wistfully.

 

 Stiles found that hard to believe. His disbelief must’ve shown on his face because Laura frowned down at him. Wanting to limit the amount they discussed Derek’s issues without an actual word from Derek, however, Stiles spoke before she could, heading her off. “So…after the fire, did you even really go to New York?” he asked thoughtfully. He found it hard to imagine Laura would head to such a busy city with what appeared to be a giant wolf in tow. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask Derek what he looked like as a wolf but he thought maybe it wasn’t the best time to ask.

 

 “South America,” Derek said, drawing Stiles’s gaze to him, seeming to settle when their eyes locked, as if he felt better for being the subject of his attention as well as the conversation. _Like I’m remembering he is just as capable of contributing here as Laura,_ Stiles thought. _Like this disability doesn’t matter._ It didn’t, not to him but he supposed Derek didn’t get that. Not yet.

 

 “South America?” he asked.

 

 Derek’s lips quirked in spite of himself. “Other pack, they help. Me. Peter.”

 

 Stiles blinked “Peter?”

 

 Derek gestured to Laura for help.

 

 “There’s a pack in South America who knew our mother. I thought if anyone had any idea how to help Derek shift back, or help us heal our uncle from the vegetative state he’s in it’d be them,” Laura explained. She looked distant though, as if the words brought up memories so painful she couldn’t articulate. Stiles knew that expression, had seen it in his dad’s face so many times. She felt like a failure, like she’d failed Derek and her uncle. Stiles didn’t have to be a werewolf to know what an alpha was meant to be. She was the head of the pack, at least since her mother died. She must’ve inherited strength as well as magic healing and calming powers along with the title, but great responsibility as well.

 

 “Ok,” Stiles said slowly, processing it, looking down, unable to stop looking at where Derek’s strong fingers were resting on his thigh, so close to Stiles’s own. It felt like two different worlds, the one where he’d been trying to hide his growing crush on a man he was trying to help, and the one where that man was a fricking werewolf. Werewolves. They were really a thing. He gave an almost hysterical, giddy sort of laugh-snort. “So I suppose that old guy last night was some sort of werewolf hunter?”

 

 “Yes,” Derek said and Stiles stared, wondering if he was joking.

 

 “That was Gerard Argent,” Laura explained with clear distaste, loathing, even. “Kate’s father. She supported Kate in her… _extermination_ of our family but we couldn’t prove it. He’s convinced we were the ones who attacked the prison van transporting her, that we killed her and those who helped her set the fire while they were in transit and he’s been chasing us down ever since.” She set her empty cup down on the coffee table and came to sit down in the other comfy chair nearest to Derek.  “Not, that is to say, that he wouldn’t have hunted us anyway to finish the job his psychotic daughter started.”

 

 “And I’m guessing…you _didn’t_ kill Kate and the other arsonists?”

 

 “No,” Derek replied firmly. “No, Hales don’t…not innocents.”

 

 “The prison guards in that van were murdered too,” Noah explained, speaking for the first time in a long while. “The Hales, they don’t hurt the innocent. They _protect_ Beacon Hills, have done for years. The Argents, they’re only meant to hunt creatures who hurt the innocent but for whatever reason, Kate and Gerard Argent decided to forget their code of conduct in this case.” His face darkened and Stiles knew his dad was thinking of all those children, those innocents who’d burned to death in the Hale house.

 

 “Wolves and hunters, they exist with an understanding, a sort of unofficial treaty. The wolves don’t touch the innocent and the hunters leave them be. We think another pack heard about the hunters going against that agreement and decided to make things even,” Noah explained. “Either that or they couldn’t afford to let her live, with what she was spouting off about when she was trying to claim insanity to avoid a prison sentence. She was publicly insisting that werewolves existed, that the Hales were abominations but only the judge discrediting her allowed it to be dismissed as a bogus insanity plea.”

 

 Stiles dragged his thumb over his lips thoughtfully. It made sense, if anything could make sense in  this world of werewolf politics. “So that’s what you’ve been helping them with recently too? Why they were at the station that day?” He looked from his dad to Derek and Laura. “My dad is helping you with the Argents?”

 

 “Only Gerard,” Derek said with a nod. “They…follow us. Trouble.”

 

 Stiles nodded. “Like stalking.”

 

“Yes.”

 

 “Right,” Stiles said against the pad of his thumb. “Because he thinks you killed Kate. So…does this have anything to do with that creepy guy that approached me at the coffee shop a month ago? Because I gotta say, these hunter types all seem to have the same vibe.”

 

 Derek flinched and looked to Laura sharply. She studiously avoided Derek’s eyes, looked only at the Sheriff.

 

 “That was Chris Argent,” Noah said tiredly, “He’s not…he’s sort of his own team nowadays, from what I can gather. He is looking for his father because he knows both he and Kate broke the rules, wants to stop him from breaking it any further. He’s more of a peacekeeper than anything, the way we’ve heard it.”

 

 Stiles felt confused. “But…doesn’t he think Laura and Derek killed his sister?”

 

 Noah shrugged. “Whether he does or not, he lives by the code and Kate and Gerard broke it.

 

 “So…you knew who he was when I came in and asked you about him? Or you guessed, at least?” Stiles asked, trying not to feel overcome with betrayal.

 

 “Yeah,” Noah admitted, the word a long, slow, almost guilty groan, “He’s been seen around by a few people. We don’t think he’s a threat but Stiles, I didn’t want you involved with him. With Gerard.”

 

 Stiles sat up completely straight and looked his father straight in the eye. “Well it doesn’t matter now, does it, because I am involved. I’m pack, right? And Gerard targeted me anyway. You made me a sitting duck by not warning me.” He felt almost more wounded by the hurt look in his dad’s face than he did by the secrecy and he sighed, dragging a hand over his hair. “I’m sorry, just…don’t shut me out, okay? I can help. I was going to be a cop, wasn’t I? I’m not an idiot. I can help. I would’ve been in the academy already if it weren’t for my stupid shoulder.”

 

 “That’s exactly what I mean,” his dad said, exasperated. “I got you involved in my work that day, I put you in a position to be hurt and your whole life changed. I messed your life up, Stiles. I didn’t want to do that again–”

 

 “You can’t protect me from the world dad,” Stiles said, “only prepare me for it.”

 

 A long silence fell, one that seemed to make Derek and Laura uncomfortable if their awkward shifting was anything to go by. Stiles held his dad’s gaze, watched his old man drag a hand over his tired face the same way Stiles did. The heavy weight in Stiles’s chest lifted a little when he saw that exasperated smile.

 

 “How’d you get so damn smart, kid?” his dad breathed. Stiles reached forward to squeeze his dad’s knee.

 

 “If you don’t mind me saying, you seem more concerned that this was all kept a secret than the fact that we’re werewolves,” Laura said with a curious look. “You’re coping almost _worryingly_ well. I don’t want you to suddenly fall into shock once things calm down and your mind feels safe enough to do so.”

_Psychotherapist_ , Stiles remembered and he couldn’t help but give a startled laugh.

 

 “Stiles is…resilient,” his dad answered with a weary smile. For some reason he looked at Derek then, “do you know what his first words were when he woke up in hospital after that incident with the armed car thief? Stiles opened his eyes, looked right at me and all he could say was, ‘is the dog alright?’ Stiles just…processes trauma differently.” His worldly eyes turned to Stiles once more. “He’s pretty amazing.”

 

 Stiles thought he could see the moment there in his dad’s eyes when they’d finally been left alone without well-meaning family or friends after they’d lost his mom. Stiles had crawled into his dad’s bed with him in the middle of the day with a Batman comic, the one he’d been reading the night his mom had died and they’d read it together. His dad often said he wouldn’t have been able to deal with losing his wife if Stiles hadn’t been who he was, hadn’t coped with things the way he did.

 

 Stiles felt his cheeks burning and his eyes stinging.

 

 “Stiles?” Derek’s voice was soft and Stiles blinked hard to dismiss the glossy sheen of emotion before he met his gaze again. Derek was searching his face, but Stiles knew somehow he could sense his sadness.

 

 “So...what other things can you guys do?” Stiles asked, going for distraction and wanting his curiosity satisfied all at once. “You can turn into wolves, Laura has this like calming, healing alpha mojo, what else?”

 

 Derek seemed to know what Stiles was doing and he hesitated before he replied, “we heal, fast. We are strong.”

 

 “We can run faster than humans too,” Laura added, “we can see a bit better than you can. We can definitely hear a lot better. Our sense of smell is one of our best traits. It lets us keep track of people, food, danger,” she smiled sheepishly, “emotions.”

 

_Knew it,_ Stiles thought. He snorted. “Right. And your eyes.” He frowned at Derek. Huh. “So many times I saw this flash of gold in your eyes and thought it was the light or something, I didn’t even give it a second thought. But Laura’s eyes were red last night.”

 

 “When we shift our eyes change colour,” Laura explained, “And sometimes when we’re overcome by stress or emotion they flash too.”

 

 Derek nodded, pointing to himself, “Beta,” then he pointed to Laura, “Alpha. Not same eyes.”

 

 Stiles nodded, feeling like that’s all he was doing lately. He folded his hands together between his knees again. “So…what do blue eyes mean?” He felt each of them tense without having to touch any of them. Tension filled the room and Stiles looked to each of them for an answer but they all seemed frozen with unease.

 

 “Who did you see that had blue eyes?” Laura asked cautiously, as if Stiles were holding a live explosive.

 

 Their unease was contagious, filling Stiles’s muscles until they drew taut and vibrated with it. “I…” he looked at Derek, wondering how much he should say. But Derek seemed as scared as the rest of them. Something he’d asked so flippantly was important, apparently. He swallowed. “I…I’m guessing you’ve been sneaking in through my window somehow? Most nights I see gold eyes,” he said, feeling a little embarrassed by the way Laura and his dad shifted at that statement. At least Derek looked abashed at being caught out.

 

 “Yes,” he admitted, clearly uncomfortable.

 

 “Was the lock on my window broken before or after you started visiting?” Stiles asked with a smile touching his lips before he could help it.

 

 “Before,” Derek said, “I…didn’t break.”

 

 Stiles nodded again. He was pretty sure the lock had been busted before his night time ‘hallucinations’ that was partly why he’d dismissed the window being open so easily, it’d needed to be fixed for ages and he’d never gotten round to it. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the fact that Derek had been sneaking into his room for a month for whatever reason, but now wasn’t the time to discuss that, especially not in front of Laura and his dad.

 

 “So…I wasn’t imagining the gold eyes by my open window?” he asked carefully.

 

 “No,” Derek said, staring hard at Stiles, as if he didn’t dare look at the sheriff or his sister.

 

 “So…I likely didn’t imagine the blue eyes I saw there, the nights you didn’t come then?” He felt suddenly sick.

 

 Derek did look at his sister then.

 

 “Stiles,” Laura said, voice a little shaky. “You didn’t…did you see anything else? Did you _dream_ anything else? Did anyone hurt you? Touch you?”

 

 Stiles frowned. “What? No. No, I mean…I never even saw Derek, not really. Only his eyes. When I saw the blue I dismissed it as the same sort of dream. I never saw anything else. Why?”

 

 Laura looked to Stiles’s bedroom door, which still stood open and gripped her hands together tight under her chin. “I don’t understand, I didn’t smell another wolf in there. I haven’t smelled another wolf around the apartment at all. I’ve sensed Gerard and a few of his _minions_ lurking around the vicinity but not another wolf. Did you?” she directed the latter at Derek who shook his head.

 

 “Wait, another wolf? As in, one not part of your pack? At Beacon Hills? In my _bedroom_?!”

 

 “Omega,” Derek confirmed with a dark look. Worried, he looked worried. For Stiles. It didn’t help the nausea blooming in Stiles’s belly.

 

 “A lone wolf,” Noah said, “one that’s taken innocent life. That’s what blue eyes mean.”

 

 Stiles sighed. “I’m trying to get my head around the fact that you know all this stuff,” Stiles complained to his dad, “that you have known, for _years_.”

 

 His dad smiled almost apologetically, before turning to Laura. “So there is some lone wolf sniffing around Stiles. Someone else who has it in for you guys? For the Hales?”

 

 Laura’s brow was furrowed in the same frown as Derek’s. “It doesn’t make sense, if they wanted to hurt Stiles, hurt us, they would’ve done so, surely? Why were they just looking? Not just one night but over and over? Whenever Derek wasn’t there?”

 

 Stiles shivered and it had nothing to do with cold. There was movement beside him and he felt Derek’s knuckles brush the side of his thigh.

 

 “Stiles.”

 

 How was it possible just his name was the most amazing thing this guy ever came out with? Those eyes looked more green than they ever had in the soft light. “You’re a werewolf,” Stiles said before he could stop himself.

 

 Derek gave him a quizzical look.

 

 “You’re a werewolf and you creep into my room most nights and watch me sleep which, I’m going to excuse as a sort of protective pack thing, for my sanity,” Stiles added quickly, speaking fast, “since this all started when I sort of barged my way into your business. I’m assuming you sort of made me your business? Especially with the Argents sniffing around, right? But apparently there’s another lone wolf man or woman stalking my bedroom at night which, yeah…I’m definitely getting my window fixed.”

 

 “Not work,” Derek said.

 

 “You mean it won’t work,” Stiles gently prodded.

 

 “It won’t work,” Derek agreed, face serious still, “lock won’t.”

 

 “I’ll have to lay a line of mountain ash along your window,” the sheriff said, looking thoughtful.

 

 Stiles gave a long sigh. Another thing he had no idea what they were talking about. It was going to be a long day. He pushed to his feet and snatched up the mugs. “Another round of coffee before I jump on that line of questioning?” he asked, turning away to the kitchen area without waiting for an answer. Coffee was his thing, his comfort. Coffee he could handle right now.

 

 He didn’t need werewolf super-senses to hear his dad lean in to Derek and say warningly, “don’t think we are going to forget the fact that you snuck into my son’s bedroom after we agreed to leave him out of all this.”

 

 Stiles gave a nervous cackle, embarrassed by his dad’s protectiveness for very personal reasons that he hoped the sheriff would never find out about. He was pretty sure there was no hiding the way his pulse raced at Derek’s proximity from the two werewolves in this odd little pack, but there was no way in hell he was having that conversation in front of his dad. Laura kept giving him sideways looks, _knowing_ looks and Derek just looked like he was struggling to keep up his façade of stone.

 

 “Stiles didn’t want to be left out of it, Stiles nearly got killed because we left Stiles out of it,” Stiles reminded him quickly as he prepared the coffee. “We’re agreed now, right? No more keeping Stiles out of it?” When it looked like Laura and his dad were hesitating, Stiles slammed the tub of coffee beans down hard on the counter. “Am I pack or am I pack?”

 

 “There were human children in the Hale pack that Talia and the others protected,” his dad began and Stiles glared at him.

 

 “I’m not a child. I _am_ involved in this, so you can either arm me with the information to protect myself or I can go hunting for it and get hurt by something I don’t know about in the process.” He couldn’t help but notice the little quirk at the corner of Derek’s mouth even as his eyes remained stern.

 

 “Tenacious little fucker, aren’t you?” Laura mused, sitting back in her chair, evidently realising they were settling in for the long-haul.

 

 Stiles beamed and tipped an extra scoop of sugar into his cup. “My dad calls it draining but yeah, pretty much.” With the coffee brewing, he leaned over the counter and stared at the three in the living room. “So…what else do I need to know? Mountain ash, let’s start with that, that sounds like a doozy. Then this blue-eyed mystery creeper that likes to lurk by my window on the nights that _Derek_ doesn’t lurk there.”

 

 His dad gave a deep, regretful sigh.

 

 

 By the time the sun had risen fully outside and was streaming in through the windows, Stiles’s dad had departed for the station, looking to see if he could obtain security footage of their building without a warrant somehow. If there was any way to get a glimpse of someone who might be constantly lurking around their building, could potentially be their blue-eyed lurker, then the footage should show it.

 

 That left a very uncomfortable Stiles standing awkwardly in the doorway of his bedroom while Laura and Derek sniffed their way around it. He fidgeted awkwardly, eyeing his overflowing laundry basket in the corner as Derek neared it. He gave a nervous laugh. “What is it with you, me and laundry, huh?” he asked. At least that made Derek look a little sheepish to be searching his room. Laura was ruthless.

 

 “You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of Stiles, for a nineteen-year-old this room is almost _tidy_ ,” Laura said distractedly, running her fingertips carefully along Stiles’s window, studying the invisible particles and sniffing cautiously every now and then. “Besides, we’re just looking for a trace of the intruder. We get no pleasure out of this.”

 

 Stiles watched as Derek searched around the chair in the corner of his room, the one by the bookshelf and couldn’t help himself. “I dunno, Derek might.”

 

 Derek tensed and Laura released a playful cackle that, for the first time let Stiles see the teasing big sister she might’ve been before her whole world shifted. She was a struggling single parent most of the time, wholly responsible for her brother, for other people’s mental health, for this werewolf shaped secret. Stiles watched Derek throw a filthy look at his sister, one that said he was contemplating throwing Stiles’s chair at her. It was nice, like getting a peak at how they should be together without the burden wearing them down.

 

 A few minutes later, when Derek was getting perilously close to Stiles’s bedside drawer, Laura was still studying the window like it held the secrets to the universe.

 

 “Anything?” Stiles asked, sitting on the end of his bed with his legs crossed.

 

 Laura sighed, stepping back from the window with frustration. “There’s wolf here alright, but only just and it’s all…” She frowned. “ _Wrong._ ”

 

 Derek straightened up, regarding her with a serious frown this time. “I not smell it.”

 

 “You didn’t smell it,” Laura corrected absently, scowling at the window as if it had betrayed them all somehow. “And even I couldn’t at first. It doesn’t smell like a wolf, not on the surface it smells… _man made_ or something. It could easily be mistaken for something chemical. He or she has altered their scent somehow. I can only just catch it now…”

 

 Stiles shifted forward so his feet were on the floor. “So what does it mean?”

 

 Laura shook her head. “I’ve never smelled anything like it. I don’t even know where to begin with this.”

 

 “Omega?” Derek suggested.

 

 “Maybe,” Laura replied, voice distant as if her mind were otherwise occupied. “Omegas don’t always think straight, they’re unstable without a pack to ground their instincts. And with hunters around…maybe he or she’s just following our scent? Looking for a way in, they’re hard to predict. But that doesn’t explain the unnatural scent.”

 

 Stiles shifted uncomfortably. “Look, I know I’m only new to the whole werewolf thing,” he began, gesturing with his hands, “but whoever this wolf is, they’re not climbing the fire escape to _your_ fricking window, you know? They’re here peeping in at me.”

 

 Laura’s face clouded with worry and she bit at her lip as she regarded Stiles carefully. “Hopefully your dad can find a way to get hold of the security footage for our building, that’ll help point us in the right direction,” she said eventually. Looking disappointed in herself. “I’m leaning towards an omega because whoever it is, they seem to be avoiding coming in here when Derek has been here.” She gave her brother a look that Stiles just _knew_ signalled a discussion of some sort regarding Derek’s nightly visits. _Not_ a conversation Stiles really wanted Laura involved in, if he was honest.

 

 “So…alpha’s eyes are red, betas are gold, unless they take an innocent life, in which case they turn blue…” Stiles licked his lips nervously. “So I’m thinking omega or not, this wolf isn’t really someone I want in my bedroom, right? I mean it’s bad. Real bad.” He spoke fast nervous and Laura came forward to squeeze his shoulder reassuringly.

 

 “Hey, it’s fine. You’re fine,” she said gently, “we’ll get some mountain ash to line your window but until then, Derek or I should probably stick around. You probably shouldn’t go out alone, either, especially not until Gerard is accounted for. It’s clear he’s making you a target.”

 

 “I can’t just hide away up here, I’ve got work in a few hours and Lydia had been texting me wanting to meet for lunch and what about my dad?” Stiles demanded all in one breath.

 

 “Gerard won’t make a move on the sheriff, it’d draw too much attention,” Laura assured him with that motherly voice she used so often with Derek. Stiles wondered if this was what their mother had been like.

 

 “And your dad has literally been prepared to face much worse than rogue omegas since he found out about us,” Laura continued.

 

 “We don’t _know_ it’s an omega,” Stiles began. “And I’m pretty sure I still can’t hide in this apartment. I can’t afford any days off right now. The bill for the Jeep was due like two weeks ago! If I don’t pay up soon I’m pretty sure they can legally scrap it or something.”

 

 Laura stood there silently enduring his rapid word diarrhoea until she was evidently sure he’d finished. “You’re right,” she said before inclining her head in her brother’s direction. “Derek can play watchdog for you.”

 

 Stiles didn’t have to look to _feel_ Derek tense. “Oh, dog jokes,” Stiles cleared his throat, trying to cover his awkwardness. “Are we allowed to do those?”

 

 Laura smiled beautifully, wide and affectionate. He wondered if Derek smiled like that.

 

 “I’ll leave you two to it,” she said warmly. “Derek, the sheriff’s department clocked Gerard’s vehicle in the next town over, I don’t think he’ll be back tonight but if you so much as get a whiff of him, call me, ok?” With that, she squeezed Stiles’s shoulder a final time, crossing over to grasp the side of Derek’s neck affectionately, stroke his jawline and throat with her slender fingers before leaving them alone.

 

 The tension swelled. Stiles glanced up, unable to stop himself and kicked his feet out in front of him awkwardly. “Well, I guess we have a lot to talk about.”

 

 Derek regarded him thoughtfully for a moment before moving to sit astride Stiles’s computer chair, forearms laying across the backrest. The same bloody computer chair Stiles had jerked off in so many times. He glanced at his closed laptop guiltily, wondering if Derek could sense it somehow. Oh God. There was no way Derek had been sneaking into his room almost every night and had _not_ noticed the lingering smell of Stiles’s private moments. Not with his superwolf nose.

 

_Oh God._

 

 Stiles felt his face burn. He dragged his fingers up the back of his hair. Why was the fact that Derek could most likely sense his little out of control crush, had probably smelled him whacking off was bothering him more than the fact that Derek had been creeping into his bedroom at night? What the hell was wrong with him?

 

 “Sorry,” Derek murmured, “I… _I’m_ sorry. For…” He gestured to the window, struggling for a few moments. It seemed more important to him than ever that he say the right words, however, so Stiles let him search for them himself rather than offer up a suggestion for him to mimic and learn. Derek’s arms tensed as he struggled, covered in dark hairs and corded with lean muscle that thickened further up toward his shoulder. Biceps like that should not exist. Not to mention his chest. His goddamned _ass_!

 

 Stiles was so screwed. His heart was a dirty little traitor, he wanted to tear it out and stomp on it when Derek’s warm eyes locked on him, then his chest, then his eyes again.

 

 “For watching. I…you…you just…”

 

 Stiles couldn’t help himself, he leaned forwards so his elbows rested on his knees and tried not to get lost in Derek’s face. “Fascinate you?” he supplied in a voice so husky it sounded foreign to him.

 

 Derek’s head lifted a fraction more. “Stiles,” he breathed, sounding lost.

 

 Stiles shifted, every fibre of his being vibrating, tingling, near quivering with the need to do something. To reach forward, sink his fingers into that thick dark hair and grip so tight that no words would be needed to convey what he was filling. He was pretty sure even a werewolf nose couldn’t tell you everything.

 

 Then he remembered what he’d just been told back in the living room, his mind reeling through all the facts about werewolves and little secrets he’d never known about his dad’s job in keeping Derek and Laura safe over the last nine years. He remembered Laura explaining about how Kate had manipulated him, at age fifteen. Stiles couldn’t help but jump to the natural conclusion about what exactly that manipulation had entailed, that Derek couldn’t have really had much experience with intimacy beyond Kate.

 

  _And Derek is depending on you to help him with his recovery; you’d be taking advantage of him,_ his mind supplied. _Derek wants someone, needs someone besides his sister to confide in and to pressure him with your feelings would definitely be wrong._ Stiles closed his eyes. A small breath whispered over his face and his eyes fluttered open to see Derek leaning in, eyes searching Stiles face.

 

 “Your heart,” Derek murmured, his words warm against Stiles’s cheeks. “Fast. Always with me.”

 

 Stiles exhaled shakily. “Yeah, big guy, you noticed that, huh?”

 

 The most beautiful slow smile crept across Derek’s face, almost shy, his eyes sparkled and his strong fingers slid slowly to cover Stiles’s on the bed. They threaded together hesitantly, as if Derek were attempting something he’d never tried before.

 

 “I…fascinate you?” Derek asked softly and Stiles swore every tiny hair on his body prickled. He wondered if Derek had learned that word from one of his audiobooks because it wasn’t one they’d gone over together in their unofficial sessions.

 

 It was now one of Stiles’s favourite words.

 

 “You drive me crazy,” Stiles admitted with a little breathless laugh.

 

 Derek seemed to consider him seriously for a moment but he didn’t lean back and his fingers didn’t untangle from Stiles’s. “You…not afraid.”

 

 “Of you?”

 

 Derek tilted his head slightly. “All this. It got you hurt. I did.” And there it was again, that searing brand of guilt Derek seemed to carry with him like a torch.

 

 Stiles gave a little laugh. “I’m piss-my-pants scared here, Derek, of this whole damn world I’ve been living in the middle of without realising. But I’m scared of a lot of stuff, you know? I’m scared something might happen to my dad, like it did with my mom. I’m scared of what the hell my best buddy, Scott is up to in college without me to watch his back. I’m scared that I’ll never find what I’m meant to do with my life, that I still don’t know what the hell I’m going to do apart from the fact that it has to be something extraordinary, like my parents’ professions, you know?” He only realised he had barely taken a breath in that whole rant when he found air flooding his neglected lungs at the end of it.

 

 “I’m terrified of messing up my whole life, somehow Derek, that’s why I try not to let being shot or losing my mom like… _catch up_ to me, you know? Because I don’t wanna be one of those people who experience horrible things like that and let it decide my life. Let it stop me from making decisions. I can’t let it, okay? That’s why I don’t shut up and don’t stop moving.”

 

 Derek had leant back a fraction now, purely to avoid Stiles’s gesticulating hands and Stiles regretted it instantly but he couldn’t stop. He needed Derek to understand and his stupid brain, it wasn’t focussed. He was due for his Adderall, he thought. He couldn’t get the words out he needed, focus on what he wanted to say and it only made him talk faster.

 

 “So this werewolf stuff? I’m processing, right now. It’s a shock but I’m pretty good at rolling with the punches, at coping, you know? I’m shocked. I’m terrified that there’s some blue-eyed omega stalking me and that last night someone tried to shove the barrel of a gun in my mouth. But I’m not afraid of you, Derek. You’re…” Stiles gestured frenetically as he struggled for the right words but in the end, all that came out was, “you’re sort of grounding, you know? It’s like my head is racing with all this crap and then, you’re… _you._ You’ve got this strong calmness, like the eye of the storm or…or…”

 

 “An anchor?” Derek suggested.

 

 Stiles stopped. Derek was watching him with that attentive, searching look he wore when Stiles spoke sometimes, as if he’d followed every word of his rant attentively. He felt like he’d been sucker punched by Derek somehow understanding all of that.

 

 “Yeah,” he agreed, “yeah I…that’s pretty accurate, actually.”

 

 There was a hint of that dazzling smile tugging at Derek’s lips as he looked down at his own hands in his lap, then back up at Stiles again. This was the shy boy he’d probably been at fifteen, peeking through the chaos. He made Derek feel like that. The thought made him a little dizzy.

 

 “All werewolf has anchor,” Derek said.

 

 “All werewolves have an anchor,” Stiles corrected with a nod, “like…something to ground them?”

 

 Derek nodded in answer. “For…helping to control?” He phrased it like a question, as if he were sure he wasn’t saying it right.

 

 “To help them with control,” Stiles said, frowning slightly, “like…control your inner wolf or whatnot?” He didn’t need Derek to nod to know he was right, he could see it in Derek’s eyes. “So what’s your anchor?”

 

 Derek cut his glance to the side and folded his hands together thoughtfully. “Laura’s…it’s family. My…Mine it…” He shook his head, getting tongue-tied. “Mine _was_ …anger. For long time.”

 

 Shifting forward, so that they were both leaning over, elbows braced on their knees, their faces brought closer, yet not as close as before, Stiles thought about those words. “ _Was_ anger?” It didn’t seem like a very reliable grounding force for any person. He was about to open his mouth to suggest to Derek that maybe that’s why he hadn’t felt in control enough to try and shift again, when Derek spoke.

 

 “I’m your anchor?” Derek asked.

 

 Stiles thought about it, how Derek was connecting what he’d said to what he was experiencing. They were sort of one in the same, he realised. “I…I think you might be, maybe.” He smiled self-consciously.

 

 “I think you might be…mine,” Derek murmured, using the example of Stiles’s words to phrase his own perfectly. His brow was furrowed with concentration as he struggled hard to process the right words now, with Stiles, right here. It was as if it mattered to him more now than it ever had before, as if he wanted Stiles to understand as badly as Stiles had wanted to make him understand a few moments ago.

 

 Stiles needed to make sure he wasn’t misunderstanding what he was getting from Derek right now. He needed to know this wasn’t him projecting his feelings onto Derek, pressuring him, manipulating him. But up close Derek’s eyes were just this perfect shade of pale green and his mouth looked startlingly soft surrounded by dark scruff.

 

 “Does…does that mean, you know…what it means when I say it?” Stiles asked awkwardly, gesturing between them. “You know…with the accelerated heart rate and the profuse sweating and the–?” He was cut off by a look, just a look in Derek’s eyes like molten heat that made his words dry in his throat. He floundered like a fish on dry land but he needed to be sure, because it was too important. “You’re…sure? I mean you don’t feel like I’m pressuring or taking advantage or like uh, because you know, I’m helping you and maybe you feel that I–”

 

 “Stiles.”

 

 Oh yeah, that was his favourite word actually, wasn’t it? Stiles’s mind was racing as wildly as his heart. Everything spinning out of his control.

 

 “Derek, I need…” Stiles chewed the inside of his mouth, still feeling a bit giddy from Derek’s proximity. “Derek…” God what was wrong with his mind? He’d never been so lost for words in all his life. It was all moving so fast, Derek’s presence and voice carrying him swift and unseeing and he would only hurt Derek in the process surely?

 

 “When Laura…she said Kate manipulated you, got close to you.” Stiles moistened his dry lips. “Did she…?”

 

 Derek sat bolt upright again now, fingers digging in tight over his own forearms. The backrest of the chair was between them like a shield and the softness that had swept over his face was utterly banished at the sound of Kate’s name on Stiles’s lips. Derek’s own lips were set in a tight line, eyes just as hard. He looked every inch the distrustful stranger that had seen Stiles in the laundry room and it made Stiles ache for the loss of closeness. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like for Derek to look at him like that.

 

 “No,” Derek said sharply. “No… _pity_.” He uttered the word with such distaste.

 

 Stiles floundered. “What? Derek it’s _not_. It’s not pity.” Like he’d suspected, as Laura had tried to tell him, scenting emotions was not a fine art. Derek could sense his turmoil but he did not have the ability to read his mind and understand the source. Again, Stiles scrubbed at his hair in frustration. “It just seems like an older woman raping you is the only experience you’ve had with intimacy and I don’t want to take advantage of–”

 

 “Not…that’s not…” Derek growled, turning his head to the side, irritated with his inarticulateness. “She… _talk_. Say things. Things I like. Made me feel…”

 

 Stiles licked his lips again uncertainly. “Special?” he suggested.

 

 Derek shrugged. “Special. Made me want. I…” He growled again.

 

 “Hey,” Stiles said gently, reaching out for Derek’s arm but Derek shrugged him off, hurt and embarrassed most likely among other things. “I get it. You don’t…you don’t have anything to be ashamed of, Derek. You were fifteen and she flirted with you, showed you some attention and you liked it. You wanted it. I was fifteen once too, you know? I would’ve probably done the same thing if a beautiful woman made me believe she liked me.”

 

 That didn’t seem to console Derek, however. He still stared at Stiles’s desk with laser-like focus, unwilling to look at him. “She did. Like you said,” he said after a moment, his tone low and reluctant, ashamed. “She kissed.” It was clear from his tone he now thought of what she had done as anything but kissing, Stiles could read it in his body language, his expression and in his voice. He stayed silent though, patient as he could manage. Derek made a noise in his throat before adding, “push more but never…no chance to. Scratched sometimes. Grab. When kiss…kissing.”

 

 Stiles studied his fingers as he processed that. She pushed for more but there was never a chance. She scratched him, she grabbed at him and kissed him and while fifteen-year-old Derek had been caught up in the rush Stiles didn’t think he’d _liked_ it as such, not even then. Not judging by Derek’s mortified self-loathing. She hadn’t raped him, was what Derek was trying to tell him, not by the standard definition, although what she had done was as much rape as anything else. Of his emotions if not his completely his body. She _had_ still tried to seduce him, had kissed him and manipulated his developing teenage feelings and that was bad enough, bad enough to make Stiles feel a little queasy.

 

 “It’s alright,” he said hesitantly. “I get it she…she didn’t go further but she wanted to. She _would_ have. Right?”

 

 Derek cut a glance to him. “Yes.” Derek probably would have let her to, back then. Stiles knew that was what made the guilt so much worse.

 

 “You…Derek, just because you didn’t stop her doesn’t mean it was right. Just because you thought it felt sort of good and you reacted a certain way.” He’d been taught from a young age exactly that, his dad had dealt with enough similar situations to want his only son armed against them. “A fifteen-year-old can’t consent. If the situation had been different, she could’ve gone to prison for that too, you know? It still wasn’t your fault. It doesn’t mean you–”

 

 “Stop,” Derek grunted out, prickling visibly like the angry wolf he was. “Don’t. Not about her. You not… You never… ‘M not stupid.”

 

 Stiles blinked for a minute, utterly confused until it clicked. “What? I never said you were stupid, Derek, please, I just–”

 

 “You said…‘take advantage’ means…easy to…manipulate. Like a child. Means I can’t choose. I’m not hurt. I can choose.” He did meet Stiles’s eyes again now and Stiles hadn’t realised he’d shifted right to the end of the bed, practically poised to leap from it as if scrambling forward and embracing Derek would fix this mess he was making of trying to make sure he was doing the right thing.

 

 The nails of some of Derek’s fingers on the hand resting on his forearm had dug in, enough to make a few beads of blood well there and it wasn’t until Stiles studied them with a frown that he realised they weren’t nails. They were claws.

 

 “Not weak, not hurt. Angry, yes. Hate. Hate her. I hate her. Always. But not hurt. Not now. I can choose.”

 

 Stiles drew in a shaky, unsteady breath and held Derek’s gaze, loathing how cautious and unsure it was as Stiles reached out to touch the pads of his fingers to Derek’s fingers. The claws retracted instantly, receding back into normal blunt human nails on instinct as if worried they would catch Stiles or worse, worried how Stiles would react on seeing them. Stiles smoothed the beads of blood away gently, only to find the little punctures had already healed. He touched gently at the unmarred skin, letting his fingertips shift to touch at the edges of Derek’s blunt nails.

 

 He didn’t realise he was staring as he touched with reverence until Derek drew in an odd little breath of surprise. Those green eyes were blown dark with emotions Stiles couldn’t name. He froze, touched gently along the tops of Derek’s nail beds. “Show me?” he asked, almost hoarse.

 

 Derek just breathed. Stiles thought he was scenting the air to test Stiles’s agenda as best he could as well as postponing the moment he had to decide. He flicked Stiles’s hand off in the end, but before Stiles could shift back to give him the space that gesture implied he wanted, Derek flexed his nails and dark claws extended in their place.

 

 Without really thinking, Stiles cupped his hand, running his forefinger over the sharp edges without pressure, staring in awe. It was incredible. The way prisms were to children, unexplained and new and too incredible to be real. Derek’s hand was warm in both of his, his palm oddly softer than Stiles’s though, fingers wider, a fraction shorter. Strong hands. He had wide knuckles and Stiles brushed them absently with a thumb as he studied the claws. He only realised how close to his face he had pulled Derek’s hand when he saw that Derek was leaning slightly over the chair to allow it.

 

 Derek’s face was close too. So close. Stiles felt his face burn at the intimacy of it.

 

 “Sorry,” he whispered, gently releasing Derek’s hand. “I guess you fascinate me too,” he admitted, trying to alleviate the awkwardness he _didn’t_ feel. So close. His heart was pounding and Derek was listening to every thud.

 

 “I can choose,” Derek insisted huskily, blood-tinged fingertips reaching out and snagging Stiles’s hand, not stopping him but imploring him. He looked vulnerable to some extent, yes but his eyes were blazing and deep, dark with firm insistence too.

 

 “Derek, I know, of course you can. I wasn’t implying you were–”

 

 “ _Let_ me choose.”

 

 He saw Derek’s eyes sweep over his face again, as if searching it for a clue of how to make him understand. Then Derek moved. It wasn’t fast, wasn’t one of those suave dives for a hungry, commanding kiss. Derek shifted forward, barely sitting on the edge of his chair, most likely. His face hovered, hesitated in front of Stiles’s, just for a brief moment, then his mouth brushed Stiles’s in a barely there caress.

 

 That small, delicate touch had stilled every inch of him, inside and out. His mind swam with dizzying, cloudy warmth and his eyes fluttered shut briefly as he felt his breath catch somewhere in his chest. Derek’s lips were only there a moment and when Stiles opened his eyes again he found Derek so close their noses were almost touching.

 

 “Hey,” he half-whispered, half-breathed. “You okay?”

 

 “Yeah,” Derek murmured, the words making his lips _just_ flicker against Stiles’s. “Just…trying something.” Trying something like it was brand new, like he’d never done it quite like this before. Slowly his fingers slid back over Stiles’s on the bed, either side of his thighs and then Derek’s eyes closed. His mouth melded to Stiles’s with slow, gentle tentativeness, as if he were relearning something. Everything. A sharp gasp, a noise of almost pained relief left him then and his hands gripped Stiles’s face, cupped his jaw and he kissed harder.

 

 Stiles’s hands moved unbidden, flailing midair before splaying across Derek’s shoulders, gripping the fabric of his jacket. He squeezed, tilting his head and parting his lips lightly to massage Derek’s. He forgot how to breathe for a second and had to draw back, dragging in air. Derek was looking at him, as if worried something was wrong and Stiles gave him a little smile before sliding long fingers into Derek’s hair and pulling him in for a deeper kiss.

 

 There was an awkward fumble where both made abortive movements to move their bodies closer to the other. In the end Derek somehow slid onto the end of the bed next to Stiles, his hand cupping the back of Stiles’s neck, fingers stroking slightly. They were upright still, leaning into each other but with their thighs touching, preventing anything heavier and yet Stiles was dizzy with the intensity of it. He groaned and felt a soft huff of what he was sure was a small laugh.

 

 Somewhere outside of this moment, his mind was still reeling about everything that had happened since last night, everything he’d learned in the last few hours. That he was kissing a werewolf was the least of it because he was kissing Derek Hale who was kissing him back like he was relearning it with more care and devotion than he had even his words in the last few weeks. Derek’s scruff was bristly and scratched and Stiles’s mouth was sensitive and he didn’t care.

 

 Derek’s breathing was laboured and shaky too, as he kept diverting to brush kisses at the corner of Stiles’s mouth then his jaw before nudging Stiles’s head back up with his nose to claim his lips again. When Stiles felt almost drugged with intimacy, the kiss didn’t end so much as taper off into fewer and fewer small kisses. When his eyes fluttered open and his blown pupils struggled to focus, he found that he and Derek had toppled sideways onto his bed.

 

 Suddenly Stiles felt flushed, exposed, lost for what to say or do next and he clamped his kiss-bruised lips shut so he couldn’t say the wrong thing and ruin the atmosphere between them. He watched with almost detached pleasure as Derek slid a hand down to rest his fingers between Stiles’s once more, eyes focussed on the connection as if it too were a pleasure he was relearning and relishing in.

 

 They lay like that for a while and Stiles’s tension even ebbed out of him when Derek’s thumb brushed across the back of his hand, slowly drawing out the low ache in his bad shoulder that had been steadily creeping back into being. He wondered if this was what Derek had meant when he said werewolves had an anchor because it was above and beyond what he’d clumsily tried to explain. He felt grounded in a sea of chaos, safe floating here with Derek, even if he knew the madness was still waiting out there for them. The Argents, the omega, the whole werewolf thing in general. For now he didn’t care and he didn’t think Derek did either.

 

 Slowly he found his voice, just small, tentative questions at first and then a few silly ones. A few random statements he didn’t expect or receive an answer to. Until at last he shifted onto his back, staring up at his bedroom ceiling with Derek’s fingers still hooked in his. He could almost fall back to sleep. He didn’t think he’d been this comfortable or calm or relaxed, without the need to do something or worrying about keeping busy lingering at the back of his mind.

 

 “What did you want to be when you grew up?” Stiles asked absently, thinking back to part of his rambling earlier. When he felt Derek turn his head to look at him, he did the same, studying Derek’s face as he patiently waited for him to answer.

 

 “I…didn’t,” Derek said, blinking at him as if he were unsure where he was going with this.

 

 Stiles huffed, even if he was secretly relieved that even before everything that had happened, Derek still hadn’t known what career he would aim for after school. “I just…my mom worked with disabled kids and my dad is the sheriff, for Christ’s sake. Both of those things _matter_ , you know? They’re…”

 

 “Extraordinary?” Derek suggested softly. There was a gentle light in his eyes that Stiles thought was delight in offering up a suggestion when Stiles was lost for words for a change.

 

 “Yeah,” Stiles agreed. “I just feel like I need to as well, I guess.”

 

 Derek nodded, then turned his head to stare back up at the ceiling as if for inspiration. “Laura…she say…” He frowned, in that way he did when he was struggling and after a few moments when he still hadn’t found the words, he pushed up until he was sitting beside Stiles. He didn’t look over at him until he seemed to have found them. “Laura say, be happy is extraordinary.”

 

 Stiles smiled, shaking his head slightly as Derek looked at him like he was something so much more. “And what if I like making coffee?” he mused. “I mean, I like people. I like the old folks and the entrepreneurs and the families. I like being busy. Talking to people. I just like talking to people, I guess.” He ran a hand over his mussed hair and snorted at how stupid that sounded. “I know that sounds simple. Not very _‘extraordinary’_.” His tone was derisive at the last, in a self-deprecating way.

 

 Derek leaned in then, leaned over him until the ceiling was completely eclipsed by Derek’s stunning face. “You are extraordinary,” Derek said, almost in awe not even touching Stiles and yet somehow chasing the breath from his lungs regardless. Every word he offered up meant more because of what it cost him to utter them

 

 Stiles pushed up on his elbows, held Derek’s gaze for a moment before pushing his chin up. Their noses brushed as he found the right angle and brought their lips together again, slow, soft.

 

 Then there was a huff against his lips that was almost a laugh, almost a grunt of frustration.

 

 “What?” Stiles asked, embarrassed by how wrecked his voice sounded.

 

 “Laura’s back,” Derek said.

 

 Stiles opened his mouth to ask how he knew when he realised. “You can hear her? From here?” Derek’s eyes glittered and Stiles groaned. “Oh my God, have you…you’ve listened to _me_ , haven’t you? What did you hear? When did you start listening in?”

 

 “After laundry room,” Derek said bluntly, as if it were obvious, as if he were determined not to be embarrassed by it. “You just…” Derek huffed then, apparently struggling and Stiles reached up without thinking, brushing the very tips of his fingers against Derek’s sternum through his shirt as he watched his face, hoping to express his patience. Derek covered his hand as he visibly tried to grasp how to phrase what he wanted to say. It seemed important to get it right. One of those moments Stiles knew to wait and let him try rather than help.

 

 “You have movement, energy, life, pulls me in,” Derek said at last. His fingers tightened over Stiles’s, pinning it to his chest so that Stiles felt his steady breathing and the subtle thud of his heart.

 

 A smile stretched across Stiles’s face unbidden. “So I’m your anchor, huh?” he asked softly.

 

 Dereks lashes were so close Stiles could count every one, thick and soft on the hard chiselled lines of his face. “Maybe,” he breathed. “No one…until you. No one got reaction. From me. No one in…years.”

 

 Stiles thought he understood that. He didn’t know about werewolf anchors, but no one had incited excitement from him in years. No one had sparked a fire in him since the accident. He’d thought up until now that he hadn’t let it rule him, but he supposed he had, if he’d kept himself protected from any and all risk. He hadn’t chosen a new career to pursue, he hadn’t shown so much as interest in anyone because showing you cared about something only made you vulnerable, only made you look and feel stupid once it all fell apart.

 

 Until he’d seen Derek striding around the car in the rain that day, he hadn’t realised just how distant his flippancy kept him from the world. He acted like he didn’t care and he smiled everyday but he hadn’t involved himself, taken the risk and opened himself up for the possibility of more than contentment in years. Positivity was all well and good, but feeling things sometimes, reacting to them was alright too.

 

 It was like he and Derek had dragged each other forward to a healthier plateau somewhere in the middle of both of their extremes. Slowly, he leant up toward Derek again, only to receive another huff of laughter against his lips. “Laura?” Stiles asked.

 

 “Laura says, _‘Don’t you have a job to get to?’_ Bringing up car keys. Borrow Camaro yesterday.”

 

 Stiles’s face burned and he sat up a little straighter. “How close _is_ she?! How much did she hear?” he panicked.

 

 “Not much, taking the stairs,” Derek said and Stiles blinked at him.

 

 “She’s in the _stairwell_? Just how far can you hear anyway? How do you guys get any privacy?!” Stiles flailed.

 

 There was that smile again. Stiles thought he could see dimples beneath the dark scruff. Oh God, his mouth still had beard-burn, didn’t it?

 

 “Laura says, _‘welcome to the pack’,_ ” Derek repeated through his grin.

 

*

 

 The ride to his work was a quiet one but it was not an awkward silence that filled the car. Derek was radiating this easy, calm demeanour that was contagious. Even though Stiles could see his eyes darting everywhere as they pulled up outside the coffee shop, Stiles felt perfectly at ease. Maybe that was the best way to get himself killed, maybe that was just him trusting Derek to protect him, which, yeah, was odd in itself, given that Derek hadn’t been able to protect him from Gerard. But this Derek seemed more confident somehow, stronger. In that moment he thought that this Derek could do anything.

 

 “All clear?” Stiles asked, after Derek had scanned the area, nostrils flaring subtly.

 

 “Yes,” Derek said but when Stiles moved to climb out of the car, Derek’s hand grasped his wrist, stilling him. “Wait,” he urged him and didn’t relax his grip on him until Stiles settled back in the seat. Slowly, Derek’s hand crept up to his face, the pad of his thumb touching gently just under the scrape that rode over Stiles’s cheekbone from his collision with the tarmac last night. The low throb that had been returning was chased away at the touch of Derek’s skin.

 

 “You’re better than Tylenol,” Stiles teased, the air between them very warm suddenly. Derek’s hand didn’t drop away and his eyes seemed to trace Stiles from hairline to collarbone. It was something he seemed to do often, as if he were checking if anything about Stiles had changed since he last looked, perhaps even if he could read Stiles’s mind if he looked hard enough. They were so close and for a second Stiles thought he was going to lean in for a kiss. Instead Derek tilted his head so their foreheads rested together.

 

 Stiles thought he could hear Derek inhaling again. Stiles wondered if after all the time he spent as a wolf this closeness, the ability to scent him and the way his thumb had slid down to rest at his neck was more intimate than a human kiss. He had to admit it made his chest tighten with warm, tingly breathlessness.

 

 “I…I have to go,” Stiles whispered, hoping his reluctance was obvious.

 

 “Hmm,” Derek agreed without moving, except to trail his nose down, to drag his lips along the shape of Stiles’s uninjured cheekbone, teeth hinting at the skin. Stiles thought he’d read somewhere, or maybe heard on a documentary that wolves ‘embraced’ by licking at each other’s teeth and nibbling the faces of their pack mates. It was like a hug, he reasoned and yet it made his stomach flip and heat.

 

 When Derek drew back, he looked slightly apologetic but warm and satisfied.

 

 “All done?” Stiles teased and Derek ducked his head with a little smile.

 

 They climbed out of the car and Stiles turned as they reached the door of the shop. “Uh, what are you going to do for the next eight hours, exactly?”

 

 Derek glanced left and right. “Keeping the parameter,” he said, considering Stiles for a fleeting moment before gesturing with his chin at the door.

 

 When Stiles turned, the sight of a frazzled Erica, rushed off her feet behind the counter drew him inside the doors. It was the beginning of an insanely busy shift. Stiles didn’t stop once and he certainly didn’t catch sight of Derek. Near the end of his shift the new recruit accidentally messed up the till and Stiles had to act as mediator between her and an Erica on the edge, so that by the time his shift was drawing to a close, he was so emotionally exhausted he happily volunteered to take the trash out back.

 

 It was comparatively quiet, a relief on his senses. He wondered absently if werewolves ever became overwhelmed by noisy rooms. He wondered where Derek was. Tossing the black bags in the large container down the side, he dusted off his hands and turned back to the door, only to find someone blocking it.

 

 “Mr Stilinski.” Chris Argent greeted him through an unnerving smile that didn’t quite reach his bright blue eyes. “I was hoping to speak to you alone.”

 

 Stiles’s throat worked soundlessly for a second. “Huh, not creepy at all,” he replied with a quiver to his voice. He could see Gerard in this man, whether this one followed some ‘code’ or not, Stiles wanted nothing to do with him, didn’t trust him not to pull a shotgun out on him just as easily if he felt he had to. “I’ve had my fill of Argents this week and it’s pretty busy inside so if you could just–”

 

 “That’s why I’m here,” Chris cut him off, voice worryingly calm, stepping sideways to block Stiles’s path when he tried to go around him. “I’m looking for Gerard too, I know he involved you somehow and I’m here to tell you, keep away from the Hales. Keep out of this.”

 

 Stiles stared at him hard, anger making him feel braver than he actually was. “Why? Will your daddy pull a shotgun on me again?” he accused.

 

 Chris’s smile slipped now, his eyes hard as ice. “I had nothing to do with that, the code is law to most of us, to me at least. I’d never pull a gun on an innocent, you need to understand that. Understand who you’re dealing with.” He clearly thought he was here to warn Stiles against the Hales, but it wasn’t them he was making Stiles fear right now.

 

 Stiles took a step back. The alley behind the shops wasn’t long; he could probably make a dash for it, if Chris kept to his word and didn’t pull his gun. But there was just something hauntingly familiar about his face, about the echo of Gerard in Chris’s eyes that made him distrust him. “I’m not dealing with you, that’s for sure,” Stiles bit out. “When you came to the shop before, you were trying to get information about Derek and Laura out of me, weren’t you?”

 

 Chris’s face looked dark. “You’re a kid with his whole life ahead of him, you don’t need to get involved in the kind of trouble Derek Hale will draw to you. Go find a nice human boy your own age and stay safe, Stiles.”

 

 Stiles didn’t even blink at the use of his preferred name. Most people in Beacon Hills knew the ‘name’ of the sheriff’s son, even if they weren’t utter stalkers like Chris Argent. “I don’t know who you think you are, dude, but let me tell you, a ‘nice _human_ boy my own age’ fucking _shot_ me three years ago, alright? Shot me in the shoulder and got away with a minimal sentence thanks to his age and now anything more strenuous than writing a goddamn _birthday card_ sets it off. So why don’t you tell me what makes the Hales so different to you guys, huh? Because so far it seems to me the humans, the Argents, _all_ the Argents have given me a lot more to be wary of.”

 

 Looking taken aback at that, Chris visibly clenched his jaw. He seemed to be studying Stiles as if trying to work out how he’d come to that conclusion, how he, Chris, had ended up the bad guy in this scenario. “I’m sorry if I’ve scared you,” Chris said, his voice careful, but firm enough that Stiles could tell no amount of guilt or apology would make Chris leave until he’d gotten what he’d come for. “But Gerard won’t stop until he brings the Hales down. I need to find him–”

 

 “So go find him and stay the hell away from me,” Stiles said, taking his chance and diving passed Chris, only to feel a hand lock around his upper arm. The grip jerked him back, jarring his bad shoulder and Stiles winced.

 

 “Just listen to me!” Chris pleaded, desperate. “Gerard will shoot you dead if you’re lucky, worse if you’re not. He has no mercy, not even for humans if they get involved with wolves. He’s lost all reason since Kate was killed. I’ve seen him do horrible things, things that’d make even your father sick to his stomach–”

 

 “Get off me, asshole!” Stiles swore, flailing round to throw a punch in Chris’s direction. His fist connected, not hard, but enough that Chris’s grip on his upper arm loosened. Stiles wrenched himself out of that grip, only to feel it tighten at the last minute, sending white-hot pain blooming up the scarred tissues that had him crumpling to the ground. He felt shaky with it, nauseous and his vision was dancing with white spots.

 

 “Shit,” Chris muttered, releasing him immediately. “Kid, are you–?” His question was cut off with a grunt of pain as he was sent hurtling back. His body collided loudly with the industrial bin and Stiles blinked hard, clearing his eyes in time to see him gripping the back of his neck with a grimace.

 

 A low, rumbling growl shuddered through the air. Derek lowered himself to Stiles’s side, balanced on his haunches, glaring with piercing yellow-gold eyes at Chris, daring him to move. He let his dangerous gaze pin Chris for a moment longer, likely ensuring he would not move, before turning to Stiles. He didn’t say anything, just reached out, strong but gentle fingers urging Stiles’s collar away from his neck so he could look at the flesh of his shoulder. His eyes brightened impossibly, as if flaring to try and see the damaged tissue between the thin shield of Stiles’s flesh. His rumbling growl turned harsh.

 

 “S’it alright?” Stiles asked, breathless, the pain throbbing and hot now, making his eyes water. He twisted his neck to try and look but Derek shook his head, as if urging him not to try, all as his fingers splayed over the exposed skin, drawing the deep throb down into a subtle, barely-there ache.

 

 “Still hurt,” Derek told him firmly, “no pain but still hurt.”

 

 Stiles nodded, feeling a little light-headed as the rush of pain receded. He got it. Pain was his body’s way of telling him something was wrong, just because he couldn’t feel it, didn’t mean he was alright.

 

 “I need to speak with your sister, Derek,” Chris said, easing himself back to his feet with the slow movements a man might when facing a feral tiger. He held his hands slightly out to the side, fingers splayed obviously, placating. “We need to find Gerard.”

 

 Derek sneered. “You think Hales kill Kate,” he argued.

 

 Chris tensed at the mention of his sister’s name. Understandable, Stiles supposed. Just because his sister had been a psycho didn’t mean he hadn’t cared for her, he supposed.

 

 “It doesn’t matter if you did or not. The code is the code. I don’t believe the Hales hurt the innocent, but Gerard has, _does_ and we need to stop him before his vendetta spills even more innocent blood,” Chris said grimly.

 

 Stiles glanced sideways at Derek, watching him tilt his head just a fraction, as if listening for a lie.

 

 “Not trust,” Derek murmured darkly. “Hales don’t work with Argents.”

 

 “I know we have a history,” Chris began tightly, “but we have a common enemy.”

 

 Derek lunged, pinning Chris to the metal bin behind him, fangs bared in a snarl that was hurt and angry. “No history,” Derek growled, “I have none. My family. My voice. Lost everything. Your fault.”

 

 “ _Kate’s_ fault,” Chris hissed back. “Get off me Derek and take me to your alpha so we can set all this aside and finish this once and for all. No more running, no more looking over your shoulder.” Chris’s gaze focussed on Stiles over Derek’s shoulder, watched Stiles where he rose unsteadily to his feet. “And no more innocent people getting hurt because of your inability to place trust in the right places.”

 

 Derek all-but roared then and his nails lengthened to claws as he raised his hand. At the same time Chris pulled a gun and pressed it hard to Derek’s throat.

 

 “No!” Stiles screamed, scrambling forward, but before he could reach them another voice rang through the alley and he froze where he stood on instinct.

 

 “Freeze! Stiles, stay back!” His dad moved toward them, his own gun raised, steps sure and steady as he approached. When he passed Stiles, effectively putting himself between his son and the other two, he called out again. “Derek, son, back away from him. Argent, drop the gun. On three, alright? One, Two…”

 

 Chris’s face contorted with his reluctance as he ejected the magazine from the gun then dropped both pieces to the floor. It took Derek a fraction of a second longer to react, a low, purring growl of warning that was more like that of a feral cat than a wolf rumbling from his throat as he backed away, until he was standing beside Stiles and his dad.

 

 “Now you listen to me, Argent,” Noah said firmly, gun still trained on him, “I don’t care what family feuds or _whatever_ are going on here. You and your father, you stay away from my son or I’ll shoot you dead, do you understand? If I see you again, if either of you come near him you won’t even get a courtesy warning. I’ll drop you where you stand.”

 

 His voice was harsh, dark as Stiles had never heard it, thick with protective rage.

 

 Chris lifted his chin, unafraid. “I’m not going to hurt your boy, Sheriff, I’ve got a daughter his age–”

 

 “I don’t care if you have _triplets_ his age,” Noah said, exasperated, impatient, angry. “Your old man stuck a gun in his mouth. I don’t care if you’re in the same supermarket and he’s in front of you at the check-out. You stay away from him, you hear me? _Far_ away. He’s not involved in this.”

 

 “You keep him out of this, Sheriff,” Chris agreed with a nod. His eyes flicked to Derek, whose face, Stiles now saw, was contorted, brow furrowed with ridges and eyebrows gone beneath it, eyes still piercing gold and fangs and claws still poised for battle. The half-way shift Laura had mentioned, he supposed. It was startling to see for himself.

 

 “I want to talk to the alpha,” Chris said then.

 

 Derek growled.

 

 “Derek will pass on your message. If they want you, they’ll find you. Wolves are good at that. Now get out of here.” Noah gestured with his gun and Chris hesitated, gaze lingering on Derek for a moment longer, before he picked up his gun. He carefully, pointedly put the magazine in his pocket, then holstered the unloaded gun under his jacket before backing away. When he’d vanished from the alleyway, Noah twitched his head toward Derek in silent question, still keeping his gun trained on the end of the alley.

 

 Derek sniffed, then inclined his head. “Gone,” he confirmed after a moment or two and only then did Noah lower his gun.

 

 “You okay, kiddo?” Noah asked, holstering his gun and approaching Stiles. “Derek called when he realised Argent was nearby.”

 

 Stiles nodded. “Fine, I don’t think he meant to hurt me, he just jarred my bad shoulder is all,” he murmured, rubbing absently at the place in question. When Derek turned to look at him, his face was normal again, lined only by a frown of guilt that Stiles honestly wanted to kick him for. “You heard him and came running, right?” he asked.

 

 Derek nodded but glanced away quickly. “He said right. You…hurt because us.”

 

 Stiles straightened up, gripping his currently mostly painless shoulder instinctively. “You heard, didn’t you? But did you fucking _listen_?!”

 

 “Stiles,” his dad started.

 

 Stiles talked over him. “No! You know what? No. I spent all morning convincing my dad that I’m an adult who can make his own choices, that keeping me in the dark, trying to keep me out of this put me in more danger. I didn’t expect to have to convince you as well.”

 

 Derek stiffened.

 

 “Did you not hear what I said back there? I’ll say it again then, just in case your superwolf hearing didn’t catch it. I got shot, alright? By a _human_. By a sixteen year-old who thought he’d steal a car for whatever reason. _Humans_ get hurt everyday and have nothing to do with werewolves and hunters. You can feel a bit guilty, alright, that’s human but don’t let it rule you.”

 

 Derek’s nostrils flared. “Like you?” he snapped.

 

 “Wow, just…wow.” Stiles felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. Maybe it hurt a little more because there was some truth to that, but in that moment, it didn’t matter. It just hurt. He gave a small, humourless laugh and shook his head. “You know what? I’ve got a shift to finish.” He held his hands up, dismissing himself from the situation and walked back inside the shop, leaving his father and Derek alone in the alley.


	4. Learning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've added the [Sterek photo manip](http://hyperlittlenori.tumblr.com/post/172183188319/i-felt-the-urge-to-make-some-cover-art-for-my) I made as the cover for this in chapter one now. Hope you like :) Thank you again for everyone's support on this story, comments and kudos, it really means a lot. Hope this chapter doesn't disappoint!

**Chapter Four**

**_Learning_ **

 

 

 

 Stiles stayed longer to help make up for his extended, impromptu ‘break’ and to help that frazzled expression on Erica’s face. She was pulling a double shift and Stiles was tempted to help cover it, but not only had the shop calmed down after he’d stayed over half-hour beyond his time, the soreness in his shoulder was really making itself known. Instead he set her up with a coffee and a sandwich he made from scratch, covering the till until she recovered somewhat of her usual smile and playfully dismissed him.

 

 By the time he walked out front, he found his dad’s cruiser parked directly in front of the shop’s door. Allowing weariness to well up at last in the wake of fading adrenaline, Stiles climbed into the passenger seat and just sank into the PU leather. “Yo, Daddio,” he murmured wearily, closing his eyes and tipping his head back. God his head was starting to hurt as much as his shoulder now, the tension from the old aggravated wound creeping up his neck.

 

 “Derek stayed on watch until I arrived back,” his dad said cautiously. When Stiles cracked his eyes open again he saw his dad looking a little awkward at the subject matter. “He seemed pretty worried about you.”

 

 Stiles exhaled heavily. “Yeah, well, I guess he was, but I can’t let his guilt consume him, dad. He’s had nine years of that. He’s not doing it with me too.”

 

 His dad gave him a pointed look.

 

 “And…yeah, maybe he had a point too. It’s not exactly the first time I’ve realised the way I cope isn’t always healthy either.” The avoid and pretend it doesn’t exist, plough on and pretend it’s all okay method. His dad reached over, squeezing his knee before turning the key in the ignition. That was the thing about his dad, he didn’t always say a lot, he’d always been the quieter out of the three of them. Stiles had gotten the chatty disposition from his mother. Despite that though, his dad always knew _how_ to say what was needed and sometimes how to even say it without words.

 

 As his dad pulled out onto the street, Stiles drew in a steadying breath. “Hey, dad?” he asked hesitantly, building up momentum for what he knew had to be done. “Could you swing by the doctor’s office, maybe?” They usually had walk-ins on Thursday evenings, he remembered distantly. “My shoulder’s not feeling too great.”

 

 He didn’t look away from the windscreen but he knew exactly how surprise, relief and everything else had morphed his father’s face. He was often trying to do the right thing but only seemed to make an even worse mess each time. He saw his dad grip the steering wheel out of his peripheral vision and he knew for certain that this time at least he’d done the right thing.

 

 “Sure, son,” his dad replied gently.

 

*

 

 It was late when they got home. After a long shower and a delivery from the local Chinese, Stiles ended up curled on one end of the sofa with his dad on the other, his feet tucked under his dad’s thighs as the TV captured their gazes if not their attention.

 

 His shoulder felt even more sore than before, what with the doctor poking and prodding, but they’d assessed him thoroughly at least. His dad had given him a look when the doctor had told him that leaving it this long when it’d been hurting had made it worse. _‘The pain is a sign’_ he’d been told and Stiles had grumbled. He’d been prescribed drugs to take the swelling down, another to help control the pain and they wanted to refer him for a scan on the area once the swelling had gone down. He’d taken the anti-inflammatory but was waiting to see if the minor pain relief they also offered would be enough before adding the pain killers to the medical cocktail.

 

 “You know, we aren’t _poor_ , Stiles,” his dad said after a while. “I know we both work hard for money and we aren’t exactly rich but you’re not a kid anymore, we all put into the apartment together, right? And you’re still my kid. If you’re in pain, we _can_ afford for you to go to a doctor. The policy covers things like that. Heck, it should even cover one of us getting shot now, heaven forbid.”

 

 Stiles turned to look at his dad but anything he was about to say died on his tongue at the hurt, sad look in his father’s eyes.

 

 “Stiles, you’re my son. You talk about letting guilt go, but what emotion, exactly, has stopped you from using our private policy _we_ pay for, if not guilt about what all that hospital time cost, huh?”

 

 Stiles fiddled with the can of Pepsi in his hands. “It’s not just that, I just…It’s not always bad, I can handle it most of the time.”

 

 “But you shouldn’t have to,” his dad said firmly. “A nineteen-year-old boy should not have to be in pain washing his damn back in the shower.  You’ve been on my case for the last three years about _my guilt_ over what happened, but that works both ways too, you know?”

 

 Stiles curled his toes further against his dad’s thigh and smiled absently when he felt his dad’s hand come to rest over his ankles. “I know,” he murmured quietly, raising his eyes to the TV thoughtfully. “I just saw what the extra financial pressure did to you after Mom died, after I got hurt. You work so hard and I don’t want that to happen to you again, if those guys at the hospital decide I need a whole range of tests or surgeries that the policy doesn’t–”

 

 “But the policy _does,_ Stiles, I made sure of it. And if it doesn’t, we’ll figure it out then, okay? Together. But you don’t put it off and make it worse, you don’t suffer and smile at me and pretend you’re okay when you’re not, you got that? Because you’d have my head if it were the other way round and I tried to pull that crap.”

 

 Stiles must have looked as stricken as he felt, as stunned by the truth, because his dad’s face softened and he gripped Stiles’s ankles a little more in reassurance.

 

 “You’ve always handled things, you just… _handle_ them. You process and you deal with whatever happens and you try to take care of everyone. But you need to let people take care of you too. I’m still the dad, alright? I’ll still be your dad if you’re nineteen or thirty-nine and yeah, I work damn hard but I work hard so I can afford to take care of you and me, when the occasion calls. Alright?”

 

 Stiles moistened his dry lips. “I…yeah. Yeah, okay.”

 

 His dad didn’t look convinced. “I mean it. You don’t want anymore secrets because you’re old enough, responsible enough, _capable_ enough to handle everything, so you can do me the same decency.”

 

 “Dad,” Stiles said, throat a little tight. “I promise. I mean it. I will.” There was a brief hesitation, then Stiles moved over, wrapping his good arm round his dad. He felt both of his dad’s arms enclose him, one hand brushing through his hair the way it always had when he was a child.

 

 “I love you, kid. Don’t let me worry about you suffering in silence anymore,” he murmured against his hair.

 

 Stiles didn’t say anything but he nodded against his dad’s chest, feeling like a kid all over again, momentarily eased just because his dad was giving him a hug. He’d forgotten what it was like for things to not be ‘okay’ all the time, to crawl into his dad’s lap and cry and for him to make it better. It wouldn’t ever be quite like that again, but it didn’t have to be the extreme opposite it’d been for years either.

 

 They watched TV for a while, finishing off the Chinese slowly throughout the night. By the time they both retreated to their rooms, there was a light comfort between them again devoid of tension. Stiles felt lighter than he had in years despite the slight soreness to his neck and shoulder as he pulled on his sweatpants and t-shirt and crawled into bed.

 

 Thoughts rolled over in his mind, about the Argents, Laura, Derek, the mystery omega. He drifted after a while, the day’s events filling him with a bone-deep tiredness that he couldn’t avoid. After not too long though, the discomfort of his aching neck and shoulder dragged him back to consciousness. He grumbled, pushing off the duvet and getting up, intending to go and fetch the pain relief pills from the kitchen when he noticed a shadow behind his blind. The shadow of someone standing outside his window.

 

 Panic throbbed in his chest, his throat, catching there and choking him for a split-second, until he remembered the mountain ash that was lining the sill. Still, cautiously, he approached the window. The shadow beyond didn’t so much as twitch. Stiles hesitated as he wrapped his fingers around the cord for the blind. His metal bat was resting just under the window and the fingers of his free hand teased the handle as he pulled the blind up.

 

He jerked back on instinct, heart pounding, swearing at the sight of Derek standing on the fire-escape just outside his window.

 

 “Holy shit, Derek, you scared the hell out of me!” He gasped, hand flat over his own pounding heart. He glared at him, before pushing the window up. “Can’t you use the door like a normal person?” he hissed.

 

 Derek winced. “I not…mean…sorry. For wake you.”

 

 “Waking me,” Stiles corrected, carding his fingers through the hair at the back of his head. “And you didn’t anyway, wake me. Just scared the shit out of me,” he mumbled, stepping back from the window.

 

 “Yes, both, sorry,” Derek agreed, but didn’t step into the room. “I just…wanted to see…you were okay.”

 

 Stiles studied him carefully. The light from the moon silhouetted him subtly, his face was soft but clearly concerned, pensive even. He still hovered outside. Sensing the awkwardness in him, the tension, Stiles said lightly, “uhh, I thought it was only vampires that needed to be invited inside?”

 

 Derek rolled his eyes and flicked a finger down at the windowsill. Ah, right, the mountain ash. Stiles carefully nudged away a small section of the line and Derek hesitated for a moment before hopping inside. Stiles nudged the line back into place with a fingertip, taking his time to make it look unnecessarily neat to postpone the moment he had to turn and face Derek. When he did, Derek had a look of determination on his face, as if he’d been building himself up to something.

 

 “Sorry, what I said,” he said clearly.

 

 Stiles couldn’t help it, he felt a little of his earlier anger ripple through him, not quite with the same ferocious force, more like an irritating buzz. He prickled with it. “You started on that frankly insulting idea that you think you know what’s best for me. Just like my dad. You feeling guilty doesn’t give you that right,” he started bitterly. It was hard to keep his voice down but he thought he managed it. “And then you _attacked_ me for calling you out on it. You crossed a line, Derek.”

 

 Derek tensed as if slapped but otherwise didn’t move. He scanned Stiles’s face cautiously, seeming to choose his words carefully. “I hurt you,” he settled on, voice husky. “I… _hate_ that. I am sorry. I want… I don’t know how. I’m not good at this.” He looked so earnest, so raw, open.

 

 Stiles wondered how long he’d been rehearsing what to say upstairs as he waited to catch him alone. “You can’t try and decide how to protect me,” he said sternly. “When two people…” He rubbed at his neck, frustrated, “they make decisions together. I can’t watch you use guilt and fear to push me away, or to punish yourself, you’ve done that enough, you got that? I won’t let you anymore.”

 

 “I know,” Derek acknowledged with a wince. “I’m not…good…at this.”

 

 “Maybe not, but neither am I.” Stiles shifted uncomfortably. “What you said, about the way I cope, you weren’t exactly wrong there,” he admitted reluctantly. “I…errr…went to the doctor today. At last, so…it’s sort of a start, I guess.”

 

 Derek nodded, still looking uncomfortable, caught in place, unsure of what to do or say. Stiles had an image of a young Derek standing like that, waiting for a hint from his parents perhaps of how best to make good of a mistake. He had a feeling Derek hadn’t had much experience with apologies since the fire, that Laura didn’t ask for much from him, perhaps out of guilt or maybe just because she couldn’t stand her baby brother looking at her like that. Stiles wasn’t too fond of that look himself.

 

 Instead of sweeping it under the rug, which was never really a trait of his, he came straight out with, “I’ve never really been great at apologising either. Comfortable with it, I mean.” He shut the window to keep out the cool evening air and crossed to sit on the end of his bed. “I wasn’t a _bad_ kid exactly, but I certainly gave my dad the run-around, hanging out in the woods at night, saying I was doing one thing then doing another, writing essays on circumcision instead of my Econ homework.” He at least got a raised eyebrow at that. He smiled.

 

 “Dad used to give me this fond, exasperated look mostly. On the rare occasion I really upset him I sort of floundered, didn’t know what to say, just knew I needed to fix everything right that second, you know?”

 

 Derek seemed to relax slightly. Whether it was because of the admission or just because Stiles’s normal chatter was relaxing for him, it wasn’t clear. A bit of both, Stiles thought.

 

 “So,” Stiles continued, the words coming a bit easier, “I think I’m sorry too. I mean, I had no right to judge you on the way you cope with things when my way isn’t that much better. So, yeah, I’m sorry.” He ducked his head as he spoke, worried how it might be received, but when he glanced up from under his lashes he saw Derek standing with his head slightly tilted, as if to better take in all of him, his eyes warm. Stiles’s lips twitched again and he flopped on his back on the bed in relief, staring at the ceiling the way he and Derek had earlier that day together.

 

 “I think…maybe we could help each other cope a bit better. Maybe. I’d…maybe like that.”

 

 “Me too,” Derek murmured, voice almost lost in the deafening quiet.

 

 Stiles pushed up onto his elbows to look at him but before he could say anything, Derek was crossing the room to sit on the edge of the bed, facing away from him.

 

 “I don’t want you hurt,” Derek said quietly, some of his earlier tension edging back into his voice, his posture. “But selfish. Don’t want let go either. You are…important already. I think could be…”

 

 Stiles didn’t need him to finish to know what he wanted to say, that they could be even more than important to each other, one day. He felt the same way. He thought maybe he was in danger of Derek becoming pretty much everything to him.

 

 “Hey,” he said soothingly, but as he pushed up off his elbows his shoulder gave a twinge and he grumbled, starting to rise off the bed. “Hold that thought, okay? Just going to get some painkillers.” He shifted to the side of the bed to get up, but the touch to his good shoulder paused him, had him turning his head carefully to see Derek kneeling behind him with a tentatively hopeful expression.

 

 “I can, if you want?” Derek offered.

 

 He was too adorable, Stiles thought but carefully didn’t say so aloud. With a nod, Derek’s hand already holding him curled gently around his shoulder. The fingers of the other hand spread over his neck, drawing the hot ache with the touch and leaving him with almost cooling relief. After a moment, they slid down a little under the fabric of his t-shirt to ease the ache in his shoulder too.

 

 Stiles couldn’t help it, here in the quiet intimacy of his own room with Derek’s hands on his skin, his breath steady and tickling the back of Stiles’s neck, Stiles shivered.

 

 “Cold?”

 

 Stiles shook his head slowly. The pain was gone now, almost completely, better than any drug but when Derek’s hand drew back, he covered it with his own, holding it in place. He shifted his body just enough to look at him. His eyes were a beautiful grey-green that Stiles could just make out with the moonlight streaming in through the open window, his stubble a dark shadow across his perfect jaw. Stiles drank in every inch of him and his other hand rose unbidden to trace the shape of the scruff round Derek’s mouth. The look in those eyes made a flush ride over Stiles’s cheeks.

 

 Stiles had lived the last few years not reaching for anything more than contentment because he was scared, because it was risky, because he’d been playing this perfect role of happiness in spite of disaster he hadn’t wanted to compromise by wanting more. That wasn’t a way to live. He wanted the middle ground, he wanted it with Derek. “Don’t pull away because you’re afraid,” he urged, pleaded huskily.

 

 Derek looked down to his mouth, then his eyes again. “I don’t…”

 

 “Look, I’m a klutz. And besides that, I tend to be some sort of trouble magnet. I’m _probably_ going to get hurt whether you’re here or not.” He didn’t think that assuaged Derek’s fears any so he added quickly, frustrated and turning to face him fully, “it’s just up to you whether you want to be there with me when it does.”

 

 The hand on his shoulder slid up to cup his neck, thumb caressing just over his adam’s apple and the other mirrored it. Derek leaned in, bringing their mouths together. It was harder this time, more urgent. It sent little furls of heat down into Stiles’s stomach where they knotted, setting alight to the breath in his lungs until he felt like he couldn’t breathe. He reached back, one hand gripping Derek’s jaw while the other slid to cup the back of his head, to weave long fingers into his thick hair and tighten. Derek made a little gasp-groan noise into his mouth and Stiles panted, pushing up onto his knees and meeting Derek in the middle of the bed.

 

 Stiles’s lips opened slightly, tongue darting out against Derek’s mouth, flicking inside when it parted with another of those soft rumbling noises that made Stiles’s stomach tighten. Derek held still in surprise and Stiles drew back just enough to look into his eyes, their mouths still almost kissing.

 

 “Okay?” Stiles asked, from uncharted territory. He’d kissed before, lots, even, but he was pretty sure Derek was feeling the heat and wasn’t sure how to react to it. Derek gave a fraction of a nod and Stiles smiled reassuringly, stroking the hair under his fingers, the stubbly corner of Derek’s jaw, leaning in to kiss again. “Mmm,” he murmured against his lips, still grinning into the kiss. “You’re wearing your shoes on my bed.”

 

 Derek kissed him back, then frowned, Stiles’s words apparently registering. When Stiles gave a mischievous laugh though he smiled, a full-blown smile with teeth and all that made Stiles’s stomach flutter. Self-consciously, Derek shimmied back off the bed to toe off his shoes. When he straightened up to get back onto the bed with Stiles, however, he hesitated.

 

 They didn’t need words to make things clear between them.

 

 Stiles lay down, squishing his head into the middle of the pillows the way he liked and pulled the duvet over him but left it open on the side Derek stood on. “I’m pretty tired but I’d like…” He hoped Derek appreciated him making an ass out of himself to try and ease any embarrassment or uncertainty on his part. “That is…do you…do you wanna like, stay? You know because I’m really comfy, too comfy to get out of bed and move the mountain ash and I’m pretty sure the bed is more comfortable than the fire escape.”

 

 Derek looked over Stiles and the empty space beside him with conflicted longing. He looked like a starving animal cautious to approach offered sustenance. When he didn’t reply, Stiles shifted carefully up onto his good arm, the light-hearted teasing gone from his voice.

 

 “Hey, it’s alright, do you just–?”

 

 “You’re…tired?” Derek asked cautiously, clearly torn, longing but tentative and Stiles knew the question he was really asking was ‘are you sure this is all we’ll be doing?’  

 

 Stiles cocked his head and snuggled back down into the nook between the pillows. “Exhausted,” he said gently. “You must be too, huh?” He didn’t press any further than that though, just watched patiently, his face open and affectionate. After a while had passed though, he was just about to ask Derek if he wanted him to open the mountain ash barrier when Derek lowered himself to the bed.

 

 He lay with his back to Stiles, stiff and awkward and Stiles gave him a moment before carefully sliding an arm around his middle. When Derek didn’t react negatively, he pressed his nose into the space at the nape of his neck and closed his eyes, inhaling. That, for some reason, seemed to ease the lingering tension and Derek’s tight muscles seemed to melt, soften, his entire body relaxing at probably the familiar sensation of scenting.

 

 “You smell good,” Stiles murmured absently, sleepily. He snuggled in closer and smiled to himself when he felt Derek’s hand cover his skin, strong fingers stroking along his forearm and making all the hairs there prickle. “So I thought we could…spoon, like this, for a bit?”

 

 Derek made an affirmative noise, sleepy and content. Stiles squeezed him a bit tighter and burrowed in closer. If anyone questioned him he would never admit it aloud but right where he was, just like this was pretty perfect actually. He was just starting to drift when he caught himself giving a little snore right in Derek’s ear.

 

 Derek jumped.

 

 “Mmm, sorry,” Stiles muttered, “always do that when I lie on this side.” He reluctantly rolled onto his other side, pleasantly surprised when Derek turned and snuck an arm around him. It wrapped around his torso so Derek could grip gently at his bad shoulder, drain the stiff soreness and keep it at bay. Stiles could feel his nose at the hair at the back of his head, his deepening breathing on his neck as they both drifted further and further toward sleep.

 

 “You ‘kay?” he asked, voice slightly slurred.

 

 There was a moment before Derek replied, the fingers on his skin flexing slightly as if Derek had been caught just on the verge of sleep. “Yeah,” he replied huskily, “S’good.”

 

 Stiles covered his strong forearm with his hand and smiled, dopey from imminent sleep. “Hmm, Grandmother, what big arms you have.”

 

 “Shut up, Stiles,” Derek muttered but Stiles could hear the fond amusement in his sleepy voice.

 

 Stiles yawned. “When Scott and I had sleepovers I used to talk myself to sleep,” he warned Derek. “Scott and I never spooned though. He slept on a pull-out bed on the floor. I love Scott but I don’t _love_ him. Not even a crush. We’re more like brothers, really.”

 

 Derek made a noise of comprehension against his scalp and Stiles absently stroked the arm holding him.

 

 “You’re totally a snuggle-wolf,” Stiles mused. “Did you guys do puppy piles when you were younger?”

 

 There was a grunt of the negative against his head.

 

 Stiles drifted slowly, relishing drowsily in the comfort of the embrace long after Derek stopped responding to his sleep-addled questions. He discovered Derek was the only man he had ever heard of who actually liked to cuddle all night long. Stiles had been one of those people that laughed along with the _RomComs_ when one partner tried to escape the other mid-sleep, but now, faced with it, faced with it _with_ _Derek_ , he couldn’t complain. Derek was always so warm and Stiles had always hated being cold and getting into cold sheets. He curled his legs back to tuck his cold bare toes into Derek’s warm calves and finally felt sleep spill over him.

 

 

*

 

 Around a week later found Stiles drumming his fingers on his knees as he glanced out of the passenger seat of the Camaro. Laura had arrived at his door to give him a ride to pick the Jeep up from the mechanic and while he’d offered the automatic protest that he didn’t need a babysitter, it _was_ raining out. Besides, Laura liked to borrow the Camaro now and then, she missed it sometimes, apparently.

 

 Stiles considered himself a people person, so it wasn’t hard for him to ramble away to anyone, but Laura had been around a lot in the last couple of weeks since the incident with Gerard. She and his dad typically discussed what they _hadn’t_ found out about the mystery blue eyed wolf or the Argents. Apparently the security tape for their building was proving a little more difficult to get than it should be, though his dad hadn’t given up.

 

 “So did you and my dad have like, secret lunches or something before to discuss the werewolf stuff?” he asked.

 

 Laura smirked.

 

 Stiles wondered just how much of an annoying younger brother Derek had been, because so far it looked like Laura had the patience of a saint. She seemed to find Stiles more amusing than anything.

 

 “Well _now_ we can just talk it out over coffee in your kitchen. But no, we didn’t have like, midnight rendezvous,” Laura laughed, “if something turned up, we’d come down to the station but it didn’t happen often.”

 

 “Like that day I saw you both there?” Stiles asked.

 

 Laura nodded. She seemed to be casting covert glances in his direction, as if she were choosing her moment to say something. The chances that it would have something to do with him kissing her brother were too much of a risk. He kept talking. Besides, there were few people who seemed to enjoy him letting his mouth run loose.

 

 “Did Derek give you the message from Chris Argent the other week?” He knew Laura knew of the interaction, but any time he’d asked Derek what Laura had said about Chris’s offer of an alliance, Derek had got a little touchy to say the least.

 

 “Derek doesn’t want me to trust Chris Argent, no matter the advantages an alliance could give us in this situation,” Laura admitted, sounding burdened. “He’s asked me to think about it but I don’t really have a lot of time to consider it, if we don’t find Gerard soon. I was thinking he could maybe even help us find out who was stalking your bedroom but…” She winced. “There’s a risk if it _is_ an omega that Chris will kill him or her. I haven’t had much experience with him; it’s hard to judge how far his honour can be trusted.”

 

 Stiles nodded. It fell on her to make the final decision, after all, that had to be a lot of pressure. Whatever she decided, it affected all of them. He could see the weary tension in her as she struggled on through the uncertainty of what to do for the best. He didn’t envy her. She was probably the strongest woman he’d ever known besides his mother. He opened his mouth to tell her so, only to chicken out at the last minute. Laura was a funny sort, he was pretty sure she’d slap him on the arm for embarrassing her with that kind of heartfelt statement.

 

 He was also sure she’d quiz him on his kissing her brother in mortifying revenge. He was so not ready for that conversation.

 

 “Why did you choose to become a psychotherapist?” he asked.

 

 Laura’s smile turned thoughtful then as she kept her eyes on the road. In the end she gave a little shrug, “I was a bit of a tearaway as a kid. As soon as puberty hit me I started down the wrong track, did things just to drive my parents crazy, everything and anything you know?”

 

 “Oh God,” Stiles mused, “a werewolf teenager, the mood swings must’ve been lethal.”

 

 Laura smirked. “You have no idea. You should’ve seen me with PMT. Anyway, my mom sent me to see someone, a private therapist, one that knew about the supernatural. It was like they just knew. They could see all the stupid turns I’d taken and because they were standing back from it, not a part of it, they got the whole picture, you know? Figure out what it all stemmed from and how I could turn it round before it got too bad.”

 

 She gave Stiles a knowing smile, evidently sensing his curiosity before adding, “typical first child syndrome, feeling the pressure. I was always meant to be alpha some day, you know? So I was trained for it from a young age, always felt this need to do the best at everything, to succeed. My mom was an amazing alpha, an amazing woman, everyone respected her.”

 

 Stiles nodded, he got it. The pressure had gotten to her back then. “So you like…wanted to do that for others? Help them turn their lives around?”

 

 Laura shrugged. “Pretty much, I mean…it wasn’t like a lightning bolt or a ‘eureka moment’. I just thought about it, after my last session, I was about sixteen then and thinking about colleges and stuff and I thought, yeah, I could do that.”

 

 Stiles tipped his head back against the headrest. “You make it sound easy. My best friend Scott knew exactly what he wanted to do since he was a kid. He’s off studying to be a veterinarian right now and I still have no clue.”

 

 Laura didn’t say anything until they pulled up at a set of lights. “You were going to be part of the police force though, weren’t you? I know your injury means you failed the physical but isn’t there something related you could do?”

 

 Stiles sighed. “I guess. I think I just saw what an amazing job my dad did, how many people he helped, how focussed he was even after we lost my mom. I wanted to be him, you know? And I was always great at working things out, I err, guess I used to poke my nose into my dad’s cases sometimes,” he added sheepishly, continuing when she just pulled back into drive when the lights changed instead of offering him any judgement. He continued, “I just knew I’d be good at it, if I tried. Even my dad was sort of reluctantly proud when I figured out something I shouldn’t have been looking at in the first place.”

 

 Laura hummed thoughtfully.

 

 “What?” Stiles asked guardedly.

 

 “You just still sound enamoured with the idea. Longing, I suppose,” she said.

 

 Stiles bit the inside of his mouth. “I…I guess. My friend Lydia says I’ve given up entirely on finding a job I felt more than content with because I couldn’t do the one thing I set my heart on.”

 

 Laura raised an eyebrow. “And is she right?”

 

 With a huff, Stiles turned his head to look out the window. “You’re the therapist, I suppose you agree with her?” he asked, defeated. His dad and Scott both agreed with Lydia too but he wasn’t telling Laura that. “So, I might’ve been a bit lax in looking for anything else.”

 

 “There are other things you could do with a deductive mind and a desire to help, Stiles, your dad is the sheriff, don’t tell me he hasn’t tried to help you find other career paths similar to your original dream?” Laura asked.

 

 Stiles said nothing to that, thinking of the college advertisements his dad had emailed him or the stacks of leaflets that were piled up in the kitchen drawers. Instead he asked, “So you take supernatural clients as well as human ones?”

 

 Laura nodded. “Yeah. It’s pretty even, about half-and-half, I think.”

 

 “Is…is Derek one of them?” he asked carefully.

 

 Laura didn’t tense but she also took a moment to reply. “Not as such. I advise him, I guess, help him on my own time. But it’s hard when you’re part of the situation. You can’t see the whole picture. And with Derek it wasn’t…” She frowned, in the same way Derek did when he wasn’t quite sure of the right words. She didn’t speak again until they pulled into one of the parking spaces outside the mechanic’s shop.

 

 She sat there silently for a moment and Stiles felt a little rush of panic, believing that he’d overstepped himself somehow, offended her. Just as his lips parted to apologise, however, to try and fix it, she turned her body to him fully and looked him straight in the eyes. This was what she’d wanted to talk about then, he supposed. It looked like she was about to unleash something she’d been bottling up for a while.

 

 “When Derek was finally able to change back two years ago, it took him a while to learn the simple things again, like taking care of himself, eating, sleeping and _functioning_ like a man rather than a wolf. While he was the wolf, I tried to interact with him as normally as possible; I hoped it’d help him to change back.

 

 “We used to read together, I suppose that’s why his reading is recovering so much quicker than speech. We watched TV and ate together and I made him sleep in a bed, take baths. But even though he managed to hang on to a lot of the basics, through living with me like that in a house in South America, it still took him a while. He wasn’t so focussed on his emotional or mental functionality, or his language, for that matter.”

 

 Stiles stared at her in wonder. Here was a woman who had lost her entire family, had the responsibility of alpha pushed on her before she was ready, had found herself responsible for her younger brother and hospitalised uncle. How had she found the time to go to school and build a career much less function like a normal person after all that? He wondered if she blamed herself for that, for not having enough time for everything, for maybe having career when she felt she should be focussing on Derek.

 

 Stiles felt his chest ache for her. “You know, you’ve done pretty good, right? I mean, I guess you must’ve had some insurance money but you couldn’t just rely on it forever.” Especially if werewolves lived longer, like they’d told him. “You knew that. You got an education, you got a job, you did amazing.”

 

 Laura gave him a small smile. One leg was curled up under her at this angle and she looked so young just then that Stiles marvelled at all she’d achieved so far. How well put together she was.

 

 “I helped Derek as best as I could with the language,” she said softly. “But he got so angry. He was struggling and he got embarrassed by it. He had such a temper and he didn’t want to do it anymore. He told me no and I didn’t…I didn’t push him.” She ran a hand through her hair, pushing it all back from her face. “I used to be good at that, you know? I was his big sister. But when I became this parent/guardian person to him I…I couldn’t push. It’s like I forgot how.”

 

 She looked right at him then, a flicker of her smile returning, subtle but warm. She didn’t invite pity, she invited awe. “You did though. You pushed him. You know, he follows the books and practices with all that stuff you left behind in our apartment? He _wants_ to try again because he wants to talk to you without feeling like an idiot.”

 

 Stiles didn’t know what to do with that, with the emotion in her voice that sounded a lot like gratitude. He shifted uncomfortably and undid his seatbelt. “Well I’ve never been labelled as someone’s _muse_ before,” he said.

 

 “Just…he’s not had much experience with relationships. Try to be patient with him, if you can,” Laura said gently. Then her cheeks coloured a bit. “And look, I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable or anything but I _have_ heard you guys making out a few times now and I never thought he’d ever be able to have something as normal as that. I know he likes to play the big bad wolf but be gentle with him, alright?”

 

 “Oh my God,” Stiles gasped, his face aflame. He opened his door as he choked on what to say. “I don’t even…just…” If mortification was a tangible thing, he was pretty sure it was lodged in his throat right now. “Just… Derek’s meeting me at work, right?” At her nod, he swung his legs out of the car. “Look, I just…” He’d known that in theory Laura _could_ hear them on occasion, but he hadn’t really thought about it. He wondered if he could convince his dad of the viability of sound-proofing. “I can’t,” he choked in the end, shutting the door and scrambling into the workshop.

 

 “Stilinski,” the man at the counter called as he entered. “Took you long enough. I was going to have to start charging you rent.”

 

 “Yeah, sorry man, look, I’ve got enough to cover the late fee as well so–”

 

 “All paid for,” the man said, cutting across him. He tossed the familiar keys in Stiles’s direction before returning his focus to the screen in front of him.

 

 Stiles froze, fingers still clutching the keys loosely where he’d caught them. “I…what?” he asked, confused.

 

 “Paid over the phone,” the guy said, gesturing with his hand for Stiles to vanish without even looking up from the computer monitor.

 

 On his way toward where the Jeep was parked, Stiles pulled out his phone, all the while with a horrible feeling swelling in his stomach. He felt almost queasy with it.

 

  _To: DAD_

_Pops, please tell me you paid the Jeep’s bill?_

He climbed into the Jeep, sliding the key into the ignition and stared around. The interior had been cleaned. To his horror, he was pretty sure those were new windscreen wipers and the tape that had been holding the cushioning in on the seats was suspiciously absent. New seats then. New radio. Dread had risen to his throat and he started the engine, only to hear it purr gently to life instead of its usual resistant gurgle. He stared at his phone, willing for an affirmative answer from his dad until he saw the guy at the front desk glaring at him and new he’d long outstayed his welcome.

 

 When he pulled up outside his work and killed the engine, he registered the familiar shape of Derek loitering by the entrance to the shop. His arms were crossed over his chest, the collar of his leather jacket pulled up to fight the wind and his expression…apprehensive. Stiles looked down at his phone and saw the message from his dad.

 

  _From: DAD_

_I wish, kiddo. If you don’t have enough to cover it though, I’ll see if I can help cover the rest?_

Stiles closed his eyes briefly, steeling himself.

 

  _To: DAD_

_It’s ok. Got it covered. See you tonight._

With that, he got out of the car and completely bypassed Derek on his way into the shop. He managed to avoid talking to anyone since his manager Erica was handling the counter mostly. That was until she called on him to dispatch the coffees and food to those who were eating in. The third customer was of course Derek, tucked into an armchair by the window in the corner – his usual space since babysitting him on alpha/argent watch had become his duty while Stiles was at work.

 

 It’d been nice, really, today aside. Derek would buy various coffees and snacks throughout his shift, work through audiobooks and their written accompaniment with the iPad that he’d apparently stolen from Laura, or some other apps that were designed to help him. Getting out seemed to improve Derek’s mood too, and, Stiles thought, maybe hearing day-to-day conversation was helping too. On his breaks, Stiles would sit with him and Erica and Danny would tease Stiles endlessly about his ‘cute new boyfriend’, not realising Derek could hear every word.

 

 Today though, Derek didn’t have a smile for him when Stiles set his order down on the table. Stiles didn’t draw little smiley faces on his receipt, cup or napkins. Derek looked up at him, guarded and uncertain.

 

 “You’re angry,” Derek said.

 

 Stiles glared at him. “Bet you didn’t even need your sense of smell to tell you that,” he whispered sharply. Most of the customers were further in toward the shop floor, at the tables for larger parties so there was a big enough gap around Derek’s seat to make it safe to speak. “What the hell did you think you were doing? Did you think I’d say _thank you_? Is that why you decided to meet me here instead of come with me and Laura?” When Derek didn’t reply, Stiles gripped the tray in his hands tightly, trying to compose himself. Patience, Laura had said, but this was _beyond,_ surely? “If you knew it’d piss me off why did you do it?”

 

 Derek shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “Didn’t know be this mad.”

 

 Stiles set his jaw. “Look, I know we’re both novices at this stuff, but you can’t do this, Derek.”

 

 “Not…buy you things?” Derek said, as if it was a foreign concept. “My parents, they did. Laura and me do, all the time.”

 

 Stiles dragged a hand over his hair in frustration. “Yeah, like lunch or flowers or chocolate or, heck a new DVD or something, maybe even all of the above if it’s a special occasion. But you cannot pay for a complete refurb on my car, Derek. That probably cost more than the Jeep is worth for a start. More than a brand new car!” he hissed.

 

 “You needed car. That car fixed.”

 

 “Yes and I worked extra shifts to pay for it,” Stiles whispered.

 

 Derek shrugged. “I have money. Lots. I never buy things. Don’t need much.”

 

 Stiles swore he could feel his teeth _groaning_ he grit them tightly together. “I appreciate you wanted to do something nice, but I don’t want you to buy me or feel like you need to repay me for anything.”

 

 Derek frowned. He seemed to realise something. “Not about this,” he explained, gesturing subtly between then, “it’s pack thing.”

 

 Stiles blinked. “A pack thing?”

 

 “All…” He gestured a circular motion with his hand, but when Stiles’s didn’t suggest a word he settled on, “everyone, all money together. All in.”

 

 “You all pay for each other. Like…pooling your resources,” Stiles said. He glanced back to see Erica watching him and sighed. He’d known he might have to help Derek with socially acceptable acts as well but not to this extent. “Look, I get it. That makes sense, but just…not with stuff this big, alright? If you want to buy me a frickin’ sandwich or whatnot I’m all for it, but you cannot spend this amount of money on me, okay?”

 

 Something in Derek’s expression made his stomach drop. “What?” Stiles asked warily.

 

 Derek turned his gaze to the window.

 

 Stiles went rigid. “Derek, what else did you do?”

 

 Derek didn’t look back at him. “I…saw bill. The bill. For hospital.”

 

 Stiles’s eyes widened. Holy fucking shit. “Tell me you did _not_ pay for any of my hospital bills?” His panic skyrocketed when he received only silence in answer. “Fuck, Derek you can’t just…!” He saw Erica glaring at him and scratched at his hair in barely concealed rage. “You know what? I have a job to do.” With that he turned to duck back behind the counter and didn’t turn his attention to Derek for the rest of his shift.

 

 

 “What he do?” Erica asked him later when Stiles was washing up in the backroom, rinsing the cups they used for the hot milk. He glanced over his shoulder to see Erica staring at him expectantly around a bagel.

 

 “Shouldn’t you be on the shop floor?” he said evasively, setting the last metal cup on the side and rinsing his hands a little too thoroughly.

 

 “New girl showed up,” Erica said with a shrug, mouth full. “It’s quiet, she’ll be fine.” She swallowed the last of her bagel then came to lean against the counter beside Stiles. “So, what did your pretty-eyed boyfriend do to get your panties all twisted?”

 

 Stiles rolled his eyes. “That obvious, huh?”

 

 Erica cracked a smile. “Sweetheart, you haven’t had enough practice at this to get good at hiding it.” She cocked her head. “So what’d he do?”

 

 With a sigh, Stiles glanced at the door to the kitchen. It was the end of his shift and he knew Derek was probably out there waiting for him. He hadn’t moved from his usual spot in spite of Stiles ignoring him. “He just…he hasn’t had a lot of experience either, I guess,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. “It’s like I’m teaching him what the boundaries are.”

 

 Erica frowned. “Did he force himself on you?”

 

 Stiles blinked. “What? I – no. _No_ , he… he makes… _he_ made a couple of grand gestures I wasn’t really comfortable with. You know…buying me stuff.” He scratched awkwardly at his cheek, just to give his hands something to do. “Ridiculously expensive stuff.”

 

 Erica raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. “Oh, poor you,” she intoned, with clear sarcasm.

 

 Stiles huffed. “Look, it just…it makes me uncomfortable, alright?” Because Derek had already had someone take advantage of him once before and Stiles didn’t want to feel like he was. And because there was no way he could repay him, no way he could be sure Derek wasn’t buying him because he was afraid that was the only way he could keep Stiles interested. That among a million other things.

 

 “He knew it’d piss me off too and he still did it, out of some misguided need to provide for me or something.”

 

 “Well, you said you were teaching him boundaries, right? Doesn’t teaching leave room for error?” She shrugged. “Make mistakes and grow from them. _Learn_ and all that shit?”

 

 Stiles shook his head slightly. “Well, yeah,” he muttered with half-hearted scorn, “if you like…look at it logically or whatever.”

 

 Erica snorted. “You’re pissed, you’re entitled to be. Just don’t punish him too much, huh? Those sad puppy eyes are physically painful to look at.”

 

 With the best withering look he could muster, Stiles hung up his apron and tugged his jacket off the hook, pulling it on as he headed out onto the shop floor. He knew a moment of panic as he looked over to Derek’s corner only to find him absent. But just as his heart skipped, he saw movement at the doorway and found Derek standing there. His hands were in his jacket pockets and though he was looking directly at Stiles, his head was ducked a fraction, as if he were unsure of what welcome he would receive.

 

 Stiles stopped in front of him, well aware of Erica’s eyes on the back of his head. “I’m err…ready to go,” Stiles said awkwardly.

 

 Derek made a noise of agreement, before his gaze shifted to something over Stiles’s shoulder, then back to Stiles again. “I… m’sorry,” he said softly.

 

 Stiles’s breath caught. That was the thing with Derek, he agonised so much over the right thing to say that whatever he offered up was infinitely more earnest, heartfelt. It took him too much to speak to bother forming lies. The sincerity of his expression stunned Stiles to speechlessness for a moment.

 

 “And…” Derek began carefully, glancing to what Stiles could only assume was Erica over Stiles’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean to dog eyes.”

 

 Stiles couldn’t help it, a laugh burst out of him unbidden. “Oh my God,” he snorted despite himself, digging his hand into his pocket for the Jeep keys. “Come on. I’m not done being mad at you yet.” He didn’t think he quite managed to keep the affection out of his eyes though, not judging by the small smile he caught on Derek’s face before he ducked his head on the way out the door.

 

 Things were quiet as Stiles pulled out onto the road, probably because his mind was reeling and for once in his life, he managed to keep a hold on his tongue. He _was_ still angry with Derek, wanted to stay angry for a bit longer. He thought if he let himself be drawn into conversation with him, as was their norm, he might lose his grip on that righteous anger. Derek was worryingly difficult to stay angry at.

 

 “You quiet,” Derek said, then quickly corrected. “You’re quiet. It’s not right.”

 

 Stiles kept his gaze purposefully on the road ahead. “Yeah, well I’m mad at you.”

 

 “I said sorry.”

 

 “Yeah well, sometimes people need some time to process the ‘sorry’, alright?” he snapped, impatient. When he looked at Derek at the next set of lights though, he looked silently hurt, perhaps a little lost at how to fix what was happening and Stiles felt a moment of panic. He realised that Derek hadn’t really been on the end of impatience from him before, it was always the other way round. He felt conflicted, was he doing Derek a disservice by not staying annoyed with him, as he would anyone else? He didn’t even know anymore.

 

 “Just…why’d you do it, Derek?” he gasped out, frustrated. “You knew I’d be annoyed so why?”

 

 The lights changed before Derek answered. In fact, they pulled up into Stiles’s usual space and the hum of the engine died. The moment silence fell, Derek spoke. “Life too short,” he offered in quiet explanation, “to worry when I can help. Money is not important.”

 

 Stiles felt his chest tighten. Derek wasn’t talking about his own life, because the lifespan of a werewolf was fairly lengthy. Derek was talking about how things could happen, horrible things that cut even the most durable life short. Things like the fire. All of a sudden Stiles felt like an absolute prick. Maybe even a little sick. Of course he didn’t want to give Derek special treatment, undermine him as if he couldn’t handle being treated like everyone else.  But sometimes a reason could make an action understandable without excusing it.

 

 “Derek,” Stiles half breathed, half groaned, slumping limp and defeated in his seat. “Just…I’m just like you, okay? I don’t know what to do for the best, how to make something like this work,” he gestured between them illustratively. “You’re not the only one who’s learning here. I don’t want to hurt you or treat you with kid gloves either because you don’t deserve that.”

 

 Derek studied him for a moment, but the little furrow in his brows had smoothed out to near nonexistence. “We learn together,” he said, as if it was obvious.

 

 Stiles sighed, rolling his head on the headrest with a barely concealed smile. “Yeah, yeah,” he mused gently, “just…don’t do it again, alright? And if there’s something you think will piss me off, ask me first, don’t just barrel on through.  That’s my job. You have to be the responsible one, here.”

 

 Derek snorted.

 

*

 

 “How can you still not have the security tapes? You’re the sheriff!” Stiles complained from his perch on the arm of the sofa his dad was sitting on. He was flicking through some paperwork that he was tucking into a folder to take with him.

 

 “I’ve got the necessary paperwork now,” his dad grunted, sounding a bit put out. “But the footage from further back than the last couple of weeks have been moved onto external hard drives and the owner himself is away on vacation. The staff are locating them for me. _Slowly_.” His dad dragged his hand over his head as he said the last, sounding frustrated and tired. “I’ve got this kiddo. Even if I have to go down to their storage and search for it myself.”

 

 As he stood, his dad reached over to squeeze Stiles’s shoulder. Stiles covered the hand with his own briefly, before his dad pulled away to pull on his gun holster.

 

 “Any sign of any Argents?” he asked cautiously. Laura hadn’t seen, heard nor smelled a sign of them but he still didn’t feel safe. Not knowing where they were was even worse than knowing they were right there. After all, whoever the omega was that visited his room, they’d hidden their scent from both Derek and Laura, hadn’t they?

 

 “Gerard was sighted two counties over just yesterday, I had the team over there bring him in but they couldn’t make anything stick so they had to let him go,” his dad said with a grimace. “I know this is hard on you, son, doing what you’re told and not getting yourself into mischief and all, but we’re on the home stretch, alright? Just don’t…don’t get antsy and do something reckless.”

 

 “Sure, then the mischief can recommence, right?” Stiles asked casually, letting his body slide off the arm and into the seat more fully. He had a long overdue lunch date with Lydia later, since she was finally caught up with the college work she’d missed while on her honeymoon, enough to spare the weekend to drive back and visit her mom and Stiles. Aside from that though, his schedule was pretty empty and he was still in his favourite worn flannel pyjama pants and Batman t-shirt that was a bit too tight on him now. The day was looking pretty sweet.

 

 “I’ll be home for dinner. My turn to cook tonight, alright?” Noah said, pulling his jacket on. “I was thinking of inviting the Hales over, if they aren’t busy.”

 

 Stiles nodded distractedly, stretching out one leg to nudge the TV remote off the opposite arm of the sofa and slide it within reach of his arm. He started flicking through the channels. It wasn’t anything terribly surprising that his dad would invite them to dinner. Since all the secrets were exposed, Derek and Laura had been over a few times, Laura mostly to discuss what was happening with his dad and Derek mostly through Stiles’s bedroom window.

 

 Stiles had gotten proficient in reapplying the mountain ash with minimal waste and the blue-eyed intruder hadn’t returned. He supposed the creeper might just lurk on the fire escape outside his window but he was pretty sure Derek was listening for him or her from the apartment above. He doubted the intruder could avoid notice now Derek and Laura both knew they had to be on their guard.

 

 Stiles tried not to think about what Derek or Laura might hear while they were busy guarding him. He tended to turn the shower on full and pretend certainty that the sound of the water covered the sounds of his morning wank.

 

 “Hey, Stiles,” his dad said conversationally as he reached the front door, turning slightly without opening to look back at him, sprawled on the sofa.

 

 Stiles halted in his browsing to look over at him. “Mmm?”

 

 “Tell Derek to use the front door from now on, huh?”

 

 For a second there, Stiles was twelve years old again and had been caught with questionable magazines under his bed. He knew a little rush of panic, a pulse of blood in his ears. His mouth moved uselessly with a million excuses that didn’t hold words and he sat up a little straighter, still not having said anything in response.

 

 His dad smiled. “I didn’t become sheriff just because I’m pretty you know, son,” he mused.

 

 “Hah,” Stiles answered intelligibly, a sort of exhaled sound of strangled amusement. “Yeah, sure. Dad, I just–”

 

 “You do know you’re nineteen, right?” his dad said with a barely restrained laugh in his voice. “I can’t officially forbid you to see girls or guys, or have sex.”

 

 Stiles’s hands were fidgeting in his lap. “Well, how about unofficially? You said you had wolfsbane bullets, right?”

 

 Noah shook his head affectionately as he regarded him. “I know I tried to get you to stay away from Derek to start with, but I’ve seen the change in him,” he scratched at his neck awkwardly as he spoke, with all the grace and discomfort of any man talking about the person his son was in _something_ like a relationship with. “I’ve seen the change in you. I’m not…overly worried, alright?”

 

 Stiles just nodded slowly, still struck mute.

 

 “Were you going to tell me off your own back?” his dad asked.

 

 Stiles blinked at him. “Well, yeah, as soon as I’d figured out,” he gestured vaguely to his dad, to his bedroom, himself, the ceiling, “whatever is going on between us.” They spent a lot of time together, but Derek was guarding him and when he wasn’t Stiles was helping him with his speech. They kissed a fair bit though and there were those casual, gentle touches, the way Derek’s eyes went soft when he looked at him sometimes.

 

 Noah laughed. “Son, you can be absolutely clueless for such a clever kid sometimes.”

 

 Stiles huffed. “Well, were you going to ever tell me you thought I might have an interest in guys as well as girls? You seem like you’ve known a while.”

 

 His dad’s face softened a little, the amusement faint compared to the pensive affection. “I haven’t known anything, Stiles, except that it doesn’t matter either way. Never has.”

 

 There was a little flutter in Stiles’s chest and he sat forward, poised to go to his dad, wrap his arms around him in one of their father-son patented hugs. There was only the usual awkwardness in his dad’s stance and voice that was a family trait, uncomfortable with feelings, but there was no lie, no difficulty in saying the words. Stiles had always been lucky to know his dad would accept him whatever he did, was or said. That was why he felt the pressure sometimes to do the right thing, because he wanted to deserve that unwavering devotion.

 

 He opened his lips to say something, muscles bunching to cross the few steps to hug his dad, but then his dad spoke.

 

 “So, you’re using…you have…protection, right?”

 

 Stiles’s face went red. “Oh my God, Dad…!”

 

 Noah stared hard at him, clearly as mortified as he was but with a firm set of determination to his jaw. “Well? Do I?” he demanded. “I’m not just talking condoms, Stiles. You aren’t pressuring him to do anything, right?” His voice went a little soft at that question and Stiles knew instantly that his dad was thinking of whatever pressures Kate Argent had put on Derek to get what she wanted from him.

 

 Stiles frowned. “I wouldn’t do that to anyone, dad, much less Derek,” he said grimly, trying not to be hurt at the accusation.

 

 His dad rubbed at the back of his neck. “Stiles, it’s not that, it’s…you’re tenacious when you want something, okay? I don’t want you to accidentally pressure him and cause damage you can’t repair.”

 

 Stiles opened his mouth to argue, but remembered his teenage self, before the accident, begging Scott to accompany him to whatever party to be his wing man so he could get laid, remembered his exuberance and arrow-like focus on dispensing of his virginity. It hadn’t happened, as it turned out, and after the accident he’d had other more important things on his mind. Priorities just shifted. He supposed he could guess where his dad was coming from, maybe.

 

 “We’re not, uh… _that_ ,” Stiles muttered. They hadn’t even been on a date or spoken about whatever this was or…anything, really. He cleared his throat. “Just don’t worry, alright?”

 

 His dad stared at him for a moment, apparently uncertain of how best to respond to that. They were both out of their depth here, after all. In the end, his dad shifted awkwardly and set a hand on the door. “I can get you…like…condoms, if you want? Just in case?”

 

 Stiles choked on words uselessly before gasping out, “just…go to work!” He threw one of the sofa cushions at the door as his dad ducked out of it, probably just as relieved to escape the situation as Stiles was. Stiles flopped sideways on the couch and stared at the TV. He wasn’t sure what he was more thrown by, that his dad knew Derek had been sneaking into his room or that his dad thought his sex life was a whole lot more active than it actually was.

 

 He was good at being sneaky, he supposed, it could’ve happened. Except it hadn’t, he’d definitely thought about it. Fantasised might be a better term, actually, but he was only human after all and Derek was, well…Derek. Their kissing was pretty intense as it was, to the point where it was miraculous really that Stiles hadn’t creamed his jeans countless times. Derek had never really seemed reserved or freaked out by the arousal he must’ve been able to have sensed in countless ways. He’d seemed as into it as Stiles was every time, unless Stiles’s ability to read people had slipped.

 

 He was plagued with uncertainty all morning, uncertain of what exactly was happening between the two of them.

 

*

 

 Stiles locked the front door behind him on his way to meet Lydia for lunch, allowing himself a little extra time to get there with the midday traffic. The lobby was strangely empty as the lift opened and he approached the side doors that led into the garage area of the building. Reaching forward, he grabbed hold of the handle to pull one of the doors open. A hand slammed down hard on the surface, pinning it closed as a body pressed in close behind him.

 

 Stiles yelled, jerking around, heart pounding as he stared up into intense green eyes. “H- _oly_ shh…” Stiles squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to collect himself. He set his jaw, schooling his expression into the best glare he could manage. “Dude, axe the stealth mode, okay?” he gasped out, shoving hard at Derek’s chest. Derek shifted slightly but didn’t move back. His stare was intense and focussed hard on him. They were nearly the same height but somehow Derek seemed to tower over him.

 

 “Also,” Stiles added when Derek didn’t say a word or budge. “Personal space, that’s a thing too unless…well, you know.” He didn’t really mind the lack of space between them most times, but with that accusing look on his face, it was a little suffocating. Plus he had nearly just pissed himself in fear.

 

 “You said your dad, nothing reckless,” Derek said darkly.

 

 Stiles flushed, pulling open the door behind him and sliding through the gap into the garage. He heard Derek following him. “So…did you hear anything else?” As he understood it Derek and Laura had learned to tune out noises that weren’t in their immediate vicinity, unless the need called for it. Unless they wanted to hear. But maybe Derek had heard his name and been drawn in, like when you heard your name across a room.

 

 Derek didn’t appear to be susceptible to being sidetracked, however. When Stiles reached the Jeep and turned to look at him, he was still scowling.

 

 “You not leave alone, anywhere,” Derek continued.

 

 Stiles opened his mouth to suggest the proper words for that statement but Derek’s face twisted with impatience and anger.

 

 “I am meant to guard you,” he snapped, making himself perfectly clear why he was angry. “You were leaving. Being reckless.”

 

 Stiles blew out his cheeks on an exasperated exhale. “It’s just lunch with Lydia,” he huffed, “It’s literally round the corner. I probably wouldn’t even be out of earshot if you tried.”

 

 Derek didn’t look appeased. “Dangerous,” he breathed.

 

 A prickle of irritation gnawed at his senses. “Look it’s a measured risk, okay? In theory I could step outside and be hit by a bus or…” Stiles trailed off when he realised that those words hadn’t comforted Derek at all. “I didn’t think it’d be an issue. I was even going to drive the ridiculously small distance because I thought it’d be safer. And if I’m honest, I’m not sure sitting in on a lunch with me and Lydia is something you’re ready for.”

 

 Something odd happened to Derek’s face then. The tension in his facial muscles seemed to lax, like an elastic band that had snapped, leaving behind only a peculiar brand of wounded realisation.

 

 “I’ll drive. Safer than walk,” Derek said guardedly, moving passed the Jeep to the Camaro parked a few spaces down. He paused then. “Safer than walk _ing_.”

 

 Stiles watched him go for a moment, confused. Hadn’t he just said that? He was sure something important had just happened but he wasn’t sure what. Trying to restore the atmosphere a little, he scrambled to Derek side. “So if I’m being forcibly accompanied, can I drive the Camaro?”

 

 Derek pulled the driver’s door open and waited there for momentarily, eyebrows lifting in disbelief.

 

 Stiles beamed winningly but Derek only continued climbing into the driver’s seat himself.

 

 It was a short journey, in fact it probably took longer to drive than it would’ve taken to walk but Derek was still tense when they pulled up outside the diner so Stiles didn’t comment. He still felt as if he were floating out on a limb, clueless as to what was causing this odd surly dejection to Derek’s movements as he stepped out of the car.

 

 “Hey, if you’d rather not do this,” Stiles began as he shut the passenger door behind him and moved to the front of the car.

 

 Derek’s gaze cut to him so sharply Stiles froze in place. “You’re shamed.” He snarled under his breath at his misspeak. “ _Ashamed_. You’re ashamed. Of me.”

 

 Stiles stared at him with wide, mystified eyes. “I…wha…ashamed of you? What for?”

 

 Derek glanced around, sniffing subtly, as he did sometimes when he was checking exactly who was in the vicinity. “I will wait,” Derek grunted, tipping his head to the seating area outside the diner. He made a move forward and Stiles flailed, stumbling forward to put himself in his path. Derek halted, staring down at him with thinly veiled anger.

 

 “Hey,” Stiles said, holding his hands up, placating. “Just hold on a second. Why the hell do you think I’m embarrassed to be seen with you?” When Derek tried to get passed him again, Stiles gripped his arm. He received the same glare, the gesture of Derek’s head that clearly told him to remove his hand. Of course, he didn’t let go.

 

 “You didn’t say about today,” Derek muttered, “not tell me. Said not come with. Not…” He winced, the way he did when he knew he wasn’t getting his words out right. “Not tell…said your dad we aren’t…” Derek’s face shuttered in frustration and he yanked himself back out of Stiles’s grasp.

 

 For a second there Stiles caught sight of the self-effacing, bad-tempered person that in the end had refused his sister’s help. It made deep, throbbing hurt pulse in his chest so ferociously that it took a moment to realise where all this was coming from.

 

 “D’you…? Jesus, Derek,” Stiles breathed, running his hand through his hair. He sighed softly. “You are so far off the mark you’re in another frickin’ arena, buddy.” He would’ve laughed if Derek weren’t so clearly affected. He looked at him with soft eyes, willing whatever compatible werewolf senses to realise how wrong he’d gotten it.

 

 “I literally just thought you wouldn’t want to listen to Lydia rip me a new one over for not picking a new career path. I thought you’d be bored, alright? I even picked the diner round the corner for lunch so you could check in on me from home if you needed to. I was trying to be considerate or whatever, you know?” Trying to do the right thing and failing spectacularly yet again.

 

 Derek was watching him still with an unmoved expression.

 

 “For the love of God, Derek, what the hell would I have to be embarrassed for going _anywhere_ with you? Have you seen you?”

 

 Derek turned his head away.

 

 Stiles stepped closer. “Derek, you’re…you’re sort of gorgeous, you know that, right?”

 

 Derek’s lips tightened. “Then I speak and suddenly friend think you’re pity fuck the retard,” he growled darkly.

 

 “Hey,” Stiles said sharply. “Don’t you dare call yourself that.” When Derek still didn’t look at him Stiles reached out, laying a hand over Derek’s chest, letting his long fingers stroke with infinitesimal movement. It wasn’t until Derek lifted his gaze to meet his again that he spoke once more in a voice soft but vehement. “I am _not_ ashamed of you. There’s no pity about this, alright? And there are plenty of assholes in the world that’ll put you down so don’t help them out buy doing it yourself as well.”

 

 Derek’s gaze was piercing, as if he were carefully assessing every word for its meaning. There was a long moment in which the rest of the world fell away. Stiles was absently grateful that they were out of the line of sight of the diner, thanks to their chosen parking spot in the corner of the lot out front. Then Derek’s hand came up to cover Stiles’s where it lay.

 

 “I am so proud of you, and so is your sister and probably even my dad a bit, with how well you’re doing. Supernaturally well even, maybe. But mostly me, because I get to be a complete idiot and have you still look at me like that,” Stiles offered Derek a gentle little smile. “So don’t be an idiot, alright? I’m not going to leave you sitting outside like a dog.”

 

 Derek’s expression, which had been softening, twitched back into a scowl at that last word and he squeezed Stiles’s hand in silent reprimand.

 

 “Oww,” Stiles complained with a little laugh, even though it didn’t really hurt. He tugged his hand free. He watched Derek’s lips twitch, watched his scowl slowly recede and knew that werewolf trick about differentiating a truth between a lie had come in handy. He parted his lips to ask how it was that Derek had leapt so quickly to believe the worst, but closed his mouth without speaking. He thought he already knew why. Derek didn’t really have that much confidence.

 

 Taking in every inch of Derek’s hesitant expression, Stiles leant in, fingers of his free hand brushing against Derek’s jaw and curling at the short hair behind his ear as he brought their lips together. Derek remained rigid, uncertain but the hand he had pinning Stiles’s to his chest clutched tighter as if he didn’t want Stiles to let go either. With a soft inhalation, Stiles kissed him again, and this time when he leant back Derek followed, their noses brushing as Derek drew breath to form words.

 

 “Stiles,” Derek murmured and his eyes fluttered open. His lips quirked in an almost bashful smile then and his eyes flicked over Stiles’s shoulder. “Your friend watching us.”

 

 Stiles ducked his head, glancing over his shoulder to see Lydia standing there, a look of amusement poorly hidden behind a bored, impatient façade.

 

 “Yep, that’s Lydia alright,” he said, keeping grip of Derek’s hand as he brought it away from Derek’s chest. He let Derek see his nervous smile as he started forward, bringing Derek with him. “She’s…tenacious. Wicked smart. She’s one of my best friends too. She kicked my ass into gear and made sure I kept up with my school stuff when I was in the hospital after the accident.” He wondered if it was his enthusiastic affection for his friend that made that nervous look shutter across Derek’s face, made him halt in his steps a little.

 

 “Hey,” he said imploringly, eyes bright. For a tough guy, he was quickly discovering Derek was quite shy and he tried not to find that impossibly endearing. He beamed at him though, losing control of his facial muscles as the feeling filled him. “You’re too cute,” he said before he could stop himself. At least he stopped himself from kissing Derek again on impulse. He wasn’t sure Derek was a person for public displays of affection if the flush to his cheeks was anything to go by. “C’mon. I’m starved.”

 

 Lydia was clearly curious about Derek as they took a booth by the window. Stiles talked mostly at first, his mouth running on an excited motor and quizzing Lydia on her honeymoon adventures around Europe. He felt the tension in Derek beside him and saw Lydia slowly putting two and two together. He knew Lydia’s bark was worse than her bite and he wasn’t embarrassed of Derek, far from it but he did feel protective over him.

 

 “So if I order the Beacon Burgers for everyone is that good?” Lydia asked as Stiles was taking a sip of his water, probably taking the momentary silence as an opening. She looked right at Derek then. “It’s like a tradition, Stiles and I used to get them after a big game. Our friend Scott was co-captain on the lacrosse team. Is that alright with you, Derek?”

 

 Derek stared at her, as if not sure what to expect. Perhaps he’d thought Lydia and Stiles would ignore him the whole time? “Sure,” he said.

 

 Lydia gave him and Stiles the same pointed smile as she slid out of the booth to approach the main counter to order. As soon as she was out of earshot Stiles nudged Derek’s ankle with his.

 

 “Hey, man, chill, she’s a snapper but she’s a Chihuahua at worst, seriously, she’s not gonna bite your head off,” Stiles said gently.

 

 Derek huffed, but before he could reply Lydia was striding back over and sweeping into her side of the booth once more.

 

 “So Derek,” she said brightly, but with an air of impishness that set Stiles on his guard. “Stiles has been very busy while I’ve been away I see.”

 

 Stiles’s mouth dropped open. Oh, she went there.

 

 “I can see why he was too preoccupied to do much more than hurriedly answer my messages.”

 

 “Whoa,” Stiles protested, cheeks slightly flushed, “I’ve been picking up extra shifts to pay for the Jeep repairs.”

 

 “Of course, it’s nothing to do with your gorgeous boyfriend,” Lydia mused, tilting her head to regard Derek. “So tell me something about yourself Derek. Do you work? Are you still in school? How exactly did you see passed Stiles’s chatter to the gem of a person he is beneath?”

 

 Derek, to Stiles’s surprise, didn’t panic or flounder open-mouthed. He curled his fingers around his glass of water and looked down at his cup, considering, still introvert but with an odd calm to his actions as he gathered himself. It was then Stiles realised that Derek essentially did this every day. He came into the shop whenever Stiles was working and placed orders, haltingly, yes but whenever he stumbled (that one incident with the politically incorrect asshole not withstanding) Stiles was the one who stood on edge, who panicked for Derek, where Derek was actually always a perfect image of calm.

 

 Frustrated, Derek did that often enough but usually only when the situation called for it, when he was already wound up or felt urgency to make Stiles understand something important. When it came to things like this, Derek had lots of practice. It was Stiles who had to stop himself from chewing the edge of his thumbnail as Derek looked back up at Lydia almost calmly.

 

 Maybe it helped that Stiles had put to bed his fears about being ashamed of him. Maybe it helped Lydia hadn’t reacted like there was something wrong with Derek. Maybe he was eased by Stiles’s ankle resting gently against Derek’s as he spoke.

 

 “I’m been,” Derek twisted his fingers illustratively, the way most people did when they couldn’t get a word off the tip of their tongue, the way Stiles might do yet with a lot more subtlety. “Getting better. Slow. Stiles helps.”

 

 Lydia hesitated for only a moment, something visibly clicking into place in her expression. But she didn’t falter, she didn’t looked surprised or anything, really, just nodded as if it was to be expected. She’d always been good at rolling with the punches. She’d make an amazing lawyer, once she graduated, Stiles just knew it. He couldn’t help but feel the tension in his body ease a little when she just acted like it was normal, didn’t make a fuss.

 

 “Well I can’t say as I’m surprised,” she said, “Stiles was always a tenacious researcher, curious too. If he came across something he didn’t know about, within the hour he’d know everything.” She darted an affectionate yet exasperated smile at Stiles before looking back to Derek. “Let me guess, he had every condition even possibly related to yours mapped out with all their treatments listed?”

 

 Derek’s lips twitched. “He had…a folder.”

 

 Lydia shook her head slowly, still smiling. “Classic Stiles,” she all-but sang, just as their food arrived.

 

 There was something oddly satisfying, almost intimate in watching the way Derek ate. His fingers were wider than Stiles’s, stronger, yet prone to stroke softly along Stiles’s arms, his knuckles his cheekbones. Powerful yet gentle. Stiles remembered the way Derek had haltingly, almost reluctantly told him how he’d had to relearn to eat like a person and Stiles thought maybe that was why he looked so careful now. Not inept or staggered, just methodical, like someone who had perfected it all again recently.

 

 Stiles watched him take a bite out of his burger, chew, then tuck the salad escaping from the opposite side in with his little finger without looking. His neatness and fluidity made Stiles a little self-conscious of his own animal-like attack on food in general. With Derek it was like every meal was a new experience, it made even the smallest action fascinating, admirable. It made Stiles’s throat catch a little with the same fascination inspired when Stiles saw Derek read or listened to him talk or…anything really. He held himself like someone who’d fought tooth and nail to get that steady-handed.

 

 Stiles wondered just how far gone he was that Derek eating or reading was the most occupying, inspiring sight he’d ever encountered.

 

 He was caught staring then, Derek glancing to him, always hyperaware of Stiles’s movements or lack thereof. Stiles’s emotions must’ve registered on his face though because when Derek caught them, his polite, slightly guarded smile tipped up at the corners into something intimate and tender, just for him. It drew Lydia’s attention too and Stiles pointedly ignored her ‘boy, you are so lost in him already’ eye-roll to dive into his own food. As he did so, however, he accidentally knocked the stand holding the salt and pepper over and scrambled to catch it before it slid off the table. He managed, successfully avoiding the mess but his shoulder gave the smallest twinge in protest.

 

 Lydia huffed. “So Derek, are you as sick of nagging Stiles go to a damn doctor when he’s suffering as me and his dad are?” she demanded, mostly as a jab at Stiles as she snatched the condiments stand off him and righted it herself. While she’d been away, Stiles had forgotten how much she mothered him. It was perhaps that which killed his romantic love for her in the end and helped it bloom into something more platonic, when she’d helped him keep up to date with his school work while he was out of commission _and_ mothered the ever-living-hell out of him, when his dad had been forced to go back to work early to pay the bills the insurance didn’t cover.

 

 Stiles rolled his eyes this time, concentrating on polishing off his fries.

 

 “He play,” Derek gestured impatiently, “ _pretend_ not to hurt.”

 

 “He plays it tough,” Lydia bemoaned.

 

 Derek cut Stiles a glance when Stiles reached across to snag some of his fries. He did still have most of his burger left but curly fries were his favourite and he usually liked to break up bites of his burger with intervals of fries. When he wasn’t wolfing his down to distract himself from Lydia, at least. He was regretting it now, especially when Derek tugged his basket of fries out of Stiles’s reach.

 

 “He is tough,” Derek said simply, “he just lies also.”

 

 Lydia laughed as Stiles huffed, eating some more of his burger.

 

 “There’s just no point in rushing back to the doctor for every little twinge,” Stiles said, mouth full, just to punish Lydia. It was too late to preserve Derek’s impression of him. There was pretty much no coming back from mortification when the guy watched him snore and drool in his sleep for weeks without Stiles ever noticing. Much less the laundry incident. “They have patients whose needs are more dire than mine.”

 

 He _would_ tell her that he had in fact been to the doctor, was going to have a scan scheduled once they were sure the swelling had gone down, but he was feeling petulant right at that moment. Set on the defence by her nagging.

 

 Lydia glowered. “Not if you let it get to the point of having to spend more money on physio or worse, Stiles. I know you think it’s wasting people’s time or that it’s a little thing but it’s easier to treat a little thing than a huge thing.” She sniffed in disdain when Stiles burped quietly into his napkin. “For a smart person you have a peculiar way of thinking.”

 

 “People probably said that about Einstein or Stephen Hawking or–”

 

 “ _Please_ ,” Lydia implored drily, “tell me you are not comparing your refusal to seek medical help to some of the greatest minds of the universe.” It wasn’t a question but Stiles had missed their banter. He answered anyway.

 

 “Greatest minds, you said it not me.”

 

 Lydia looked to Derek. “What do you see in him? Honestly? Derek, you could do so much better.”

 

 “He likes slumming it,” Stiles said with a grin, unable to miss the way Derek’s cheeks pinked just a bit. A man that tough should not be that cute. _Jesus_ , Stiles thought, _I’m a lost hope._

 

 “Must be your little bubble butt,” Lydia sighed, “or your eyes, you have beautiful eyes.”

 

 Stiles opened his mouth for a witty retort, but it died in his throat with a little clicking noise when Derek muttered absently in reply, “he does.”

 

 Oh yeah, completely done for. Stiles felt his throat swell up like he was having an allergic reaction to feelings in general. “Huh,” he breathed out intelligently, catching Lydia’s embarrassed little smile out of his peripheral vision.

 

 “You never said how you guys met,” Lydia said, evidently trying to move passed Derek’s heartfelt yet awkward admission for all of their sakes.

 

 “Laundry room,” Derek replied, nudging his bowl of fries a little back into their original place. A distracted but almost teasing amusement played along his too-beautiful mouth when Stiles reached out to snag some out of the bowl. Whether it was a peace-offering for what he was about to say next or just a sign of affection, Stiles wasn’t sure. “Stiles touched my laundry.”

 

*

 

 Lydia bid them goodbye with a firm hug for Stiles and a typical little ‘Lydia wave’ for Derek, making Stiles promise to call her with a scowl that told Stiles just how much trouble he’d be in if he didn’t stick to his word, then vanished in a whirlwind.

 

 “Well, that didn’t go as badly as it could’ve,” Stiles said as they climbed into the car. He sank into the seat with a feeling of relief. It always felt like he’d been torn through a storm after an hour or two in Lydia’s company, in the most pleasant way. She was so high maintenance. He did love her to pieces though and he had missed her while she’d been away. Married life suited her so far and everyone who had turned their noses up at her ‘young’ marriage was bound to have their faces rubbed in her success.

 

 “She totally loved you,” Stiles said almost forlornly, “you’re both going to like, gang up on me now, aren’t you?”

 

 Derek smirked but didn’t reply. He didn’t always and that was alright. Stiles had a feeling he hadn’t been particularly verbose even before the fire so he tried to respect his apparent need to just listen sometimes. It wasn’t as if it was ever an awkward silence, even when Stiles was too tired or distracted to fill it with his usual chatter. It felt relaxed, a warm reminder of the times they sat together sometimes, in Derek’s usual spot in the shop during his breaks or more often than not on Derek’s sofa after what Stiles affectionately called their ‘English lessons’.

 

 “Hey, uh, you staying over tonight?” Stiles asked as casually as he could muster. “Dad says you can use the front door and everything.”

 

 Derek’s fingers twitched on the steering wheel. He battled valiantly to hide his embarrassment though, Stiles had to applaud him.

 

 “Your dad want us for dinner. Laura and me,” he said with a furrowed brow.

 

 Stiles laughed. “Well it would be rude to waltz straight into his only son’s bedroom right after eating at the guy’s table,” he walked his fingers over the space between their seats and along Derek’s arm. “You’ll just have to tiptoe down the fire escape with wolf stealth while he’s asleep for one more night.” He smirked when Derek swatted his hand away, then allowed it when Stiles’s hand came to rest on his thigh.

 

 Warm denim had never felt so good stretched over unfairly muscled thighs. He liked to touch those thigh muscles way too much. And his back muscles. They were all pretty highly ranked close to the biceps, really. Completely unfair.

 

 “You spoke me to Lydia?” Derek asked after a moment.

 

 Stiles’s heavy, awkward exhale puffed out his cheeks. Why did Derek seem to enjoy having heart-to-hearts in the car? Maybe driving relaxed him? They’d have to look into that as a form of therapy or something when he was cranky. He was a good driver. “We text a lot while she was away. Or well, _Facebook Messenger_ , actually because, you know, roaming charges. But I didn’t say much. Just that I’d sort of…met someone, that’s all.”

 

 Derek glanced at him briefly. “Like a boyfriend someone?”

 

 Busted. Stiles pointedly looked at the road ahead, the hand on Derek’s thigh sliding away self-consciously. “Sort of, maybe, _yeah_ ,” he admitted, “s’that okay?”

 

 Keeping one hand on the wheel, Derek reached over and flicked on the stereo, the semi-joking mix tape Stiles had made him blaring to life with ‘Bringing Sexy Back’. The corner of Derek’s mouth twitched, effectively breaking the dark façade of displeasure that he usually donned whenever Stiles poked the tape to life. He was pretty sure Laura teased him mercilessly about it as well, when she borrowed the car, yet Derek looked secretly pleased.

 

 Somewhere inside Stiles, a little voice was cackling with victory. The weird won out. “You totally dig my weird,” he said with a satisfied voice.

 

 “Will you go scan done like say Lydia?” Derek asked as they walked into their building from the parking area a few minutes later.

 

 “Will I go get the scan done like I said to Lydia,” Stiles suggested, holding the door open for one of their neighbours as she passed them going the opposite way. He let the door swing shut when she was clear and shrugged. “I’m not a martyr or anything, you know?” He’d had this argument with Derek, with his dad, Lydia. He just didn’t want them to try to run any tests or anything that would put any more stress on his dad. Theoretically he knew that the new policy should cover it, it was just a thing he couldn’t make himself believe in practice. But he _had_ promised his dad and he wouldn’t go back on that promise.

 

 “You think, don’t go and it not real,” Derek said turning to face him with that arched brow of his.

 

 “If I don’t go, it’s not real.” Stiles looked away, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Well…if you want to channel your therapist sister, maybe,” he ceded unwillingly. This is what he got for falling for someone so frickin’ clever, he supposed. “Look, believe me or not, I was going to once I finished this course of medication like the doctor said.”

 

 Derek’s expression didn’t change. “How many weeks?”

 

 “A few,” Stiles replied evasively. He sighed. “Right, I’ll go, okay? I’ll call up for an appointment.”

 

 Instead of looking victorious, however, Derek stepped closer, squeezing Stiles’s shoulder, his bad shoulder gently. Stiles winced at first, but then a few of Derek’s fingers shifted slightly under the neck of his t-shirt and the dark tendrils of Stiles’s discomfort crept up Derek’s forearm. It was still a surprise, even after the handful of times Derek had done it when they’d been lying together in Stiles’s bed and the ache had kept him from drifting off.

 

 “Thanks,” Stiles said softly, oddly humbled by the look in Derek’s eyes as he drew back. That was the startling thing about Derek, or one of them, at least. He didn’t seem to have any ulterior motives. It was all just for him or Laura, maybe even for his dad. There was nothing else that mattered to him. He and Lydia were already on the same side when it came to Stiles’s wellbeing, it seemed.

 

 Derek had moved over to the mailboxes and was sorting through the envelopes slowly, methodically as Stiles watched.

 

 “I’ll errr, meet you upstairs big guy?” he asked. He sort of needed to pee. That and he didn’t like to watch Derek like this, as if he were waiting, pressuring him to finish. His reading had recovered much faster than his speech but it still felt wrong to rush him.

 

 Derek nodded absently and Stiles took that as his cue. The lift was waiting and opened immediately when he pushed the button. He stepped inside, only to scramble for the doors to halt them before they closed. Then he released them, thinking better of it, only to dart forward again, _just_ managing to catch them before they closed. He poked his head back out to see Derek watching him in half amusement, half utter confusion.

 

 “Err, so…today was…it was pretty great, right?” Stiles asked breathlessly.

 

 Derek’s eyebrow arched again. “Yes.” Stiles swore Derek’s eyebrows could carry out entire conversations.

 

 “Cool, yeah. Good.” Stiles ducked his head back in, his body still stopping the doors from closing, so he quickly leaned back out to look at Derek again.

 

 Of course Derek was watching still, werewolf senses or probably just intuition and experience with Stiles’s character telling him Stiles wasn’t done yet.

 

 “So what if we did something similar again? Maybe another place if you want? Maybe without Lydia? Sort of just the two of us, or something?” It came out rambling and almost nonsensical even to his own ears. “Like a, you know, date?” he clarified.

 

 Lunch had been great and once he realised Derek didn’t mind being there, it was sort of cool introducing one of his best friends to his boyfriend type person. But he hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that he wished he’d been on a lunch date for real, with Derek. Just Derek. They hadn’t really done that and it felt sort of backward to sleep next to a guy most nights but not go out for dinner with him or other stuff that couples did. Maybe it was the teenager in him that hadn’t been on any real dates that was stomping its pouty little foot.

 

 “Sure,” Derek said.

 

 Stiles blinked. “Cool,” he said quickly. “Cool that’s. Great.” He stepped fully back inside the lift, only to jump slightly when Derek stepped into view and into the lift with him. He levelled Stiles with a look, one that morphed into an exasperated smile as the doors closed behind them.

 

 “You’re insane,” Derek mused, moving toward him, tilting his head to brush their lips together. Stiles’s heart did a little jump in his chest and he reached out, grasping Derek’s jacket. Derek’s tongue teased his lips just a little, before melding their mouths once more. They parted only when the doors opened again and the elderly couple who lived on the second floor stepped in, the man very pointedly pushing the button to make the lift actually _move_.

 

 “Good call,” Stiles said with an embarrassed flush to his cheeks, giving the guy a thumbs up that completely failed to cover it.

 

 He could _sense_ Derek rolling his eyes affectionately.


	5. Staring Down the World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter contains the scene that inspired [the cover art in chapter one](http://hyperlittlenori.tumblr.com/post/172183188319/i-felt-the-urge-to-make-some-cover-art-for-my), Derek and Stiles laying in the grass :)
> 
> This chapter contains angst/comfort mostly in the form of a soul-baring discussion between Derek and Stiles. There is angst on both sides, then comfort and the beginnings of healing. Their discussion touches on a couple of themes some may find uncomfortable, _they are just touched on_ , and all are discussions of what happened in the _past only_ but [**please see the end author's notes for warnings**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13881453/chapters/33009558#chapter_5_endnotes) if you want to prepare yourself for some of the themes briefly mentioned.

**Chapter Five**

**_Staring Down the World_ **

 

 

 

 Stiles winced, a hissing sound of pain rushing through his teeth as he pulled his seatbelt off. The pain was white-hot, throbbing, more intense than it had been that morning, before his physiotherapy appointment. “Why does it hurt more than before I friggin’ went in for ‘treatment’?” he seethed, sliding out of the car and slamming the door behind him.

 

 “It always hurts more before it gets better, Kiddo, you know that. You felt it before,” his dad said gently, laying a comforting hand on his back as they walked out of the parking area and into their building.

 

 Stiles had no time for a stiff upper lip today. He whined. The pain relief he’d taken as he’d left wasn’t doing a thing. “Yeah, well it didn’t hurt this much last time,” he grumbled.

 

 His dad’s eyes were warm. “Maybe last time it wasn’t working as well as it is this time.”

 

 Stiles glared at him as they stepped into the lift. “If you say ‘no pain no gain’, Dad, I swear to God–”

 

 “Wouldn’t dream of it,” his dad said lightly. As they stepped out of the lift and approached their apartment though, his cell phone rang and he cursed, digging it out of his pocket. “Stilinski,” he sighed, reaching into his pocket with his free hand for the apartment keys. He fiddled with the overloaded key-ring for a second, scowling at whoever was on the phone, until Stiles took pity and plucked the keys out of his struggling fingers.

 

 With the door open, his dad continued his phone call into the kitchen area, where he tucked the phone against his ear to set the coffee going. Stiles whined to himself, feeling grumpy and feeble. This was what he got for being a grown-up and dealing with his problems instead of peacefully pretending they didn’t exist. They’d had a cancellation at the physiotherapist and they had squeezed him in that morning, after the recent hospital scan showed the best course of treatment would be therapy in combination with trigger point injections. So far, day one, it just hurt.

 

 Moving to push the door shut, he jumped a little when it resisted. He stepped back to see Derek poke his head inside. He’d been coming in through the door for over a week now, but it was still peculiar sometimes to see him using it like a normal person. Derek stepped in, shutting the door behind him and studied Stiles with those searching eyes of his.

 

 “Hey,” Stiles said wearily, moving to finish off the coffee but feeling Derek’s gaze on him all the way across the room. He pulled out three mugs, then when he overheard his father say ‘I can be at the station in ten’ replaced one with a thermal flask and finished off the coffee. He put two sugars in his dad’s instead of the sweeteners because, well, he sounded like he was in for a long day. Plus, he had listened to Stiles’s grumbling all the way home.

 

 Coffee done, he set the flask down in front of his dad, who gave him an apologetic grimace as he listened to whatever the person on the other end of the phone was saying. When Stiles reached for the other two cups, however, he caught sight of Derek watching his every tentative move with dark brows pinched together in the middle like a worried puppy. Stiles parted his lips to say as much when Derek moved. It was so swift and purposeful that Stiles was momentarily stunned, taken aback. Then strong, smooth fingers curled around the back of his neck, cool and soothing, drawing at the pain there with such startling relief that he let out a gasp.

 

 Derek’s face was intense, focussed. Stiles watched little black vines creep up his arm and vanish into nothingness. Derek’s hand slid down to his shoulder, taking the pain there too until it felt almost as good as new.

 

 “Mmm, you’re like a miracle worker,” Stiles sighed, his tensed body relaxing. Derek held onto him a moment longer than was necessary for pain relief, before reluctantly letting his hand fall away. He studied Stiles a moment longer until Stiles offered a cup of coffee up for him to take. “Physio was intense is all. Really did a number on me.”

 

 Derek made a noise that Stiles thought was part comprehension, part wanting to kill the physiotherapist and he smiled into his own coffee cup. A glance over to his dad showed him engrossed in his conversation, though his eyes tracked Stiles and Derek’s interaction carefully. Stiles blushed and carefully steered Derek toward the sofa. It wasn’t until they were sitting down that Stiles fully took him in, black jeans and a dark blue sweater that looked like that fancy material Lydia usually gifted him something in at Christmas, soft and finely knitted. His stubble was neatly trimmed and Stiles realised he was staring when his gaze rose to Derek’s arched eyebrows. He cleared his throat, downing his coffee.

 

 “Well half the station has called in sick so it looks like I’ll be heading to work early,” Noah grumbled as he approached them with his own flask. “But good news is, it sounds like the security guys from our building dropped the hard drives off with the footage we requested, at last. At least I can look through that while I’m working through the paperwork the deputies are so desperate to avoid they’re using up sick days.”

 

 Stiles nodded. “Silver lining I guess.”

 

 “Mmm,” his dad said, rubbing at the back of his neck the same way Stiles did. “I’m going to change and head out. You’re still heading out on your date anyway, right?”

 

 Then it clicked. That was why Derek was dressed so nice. They had a date.

 

 “Uhhh, yeah, totally. Don’t worry about me, Derek can top me up on werewolf painkillers if I get too sore,” Stiles managed, watching as his dad scanned between the two of them. He seemed a little awkward, unsure of what to say but then he gave a lined smile.

 

 “Have fun, okay? And be careful. We haven’t seen or heard from the Argents or the mystery omega for a while but be on your guard, right?” Noah said.

 

 “Laura will off work to patrol soon,” Derek assured him, “Not much get by alpha.”

 

 Noah’s mouth parted in reply but then his phone rang again and he glared at the screen before giving them an apologetic shrug and answering. He snatched up his coffee on his way into his room to change.

 

 Stiles sipped the last of his coffee but when he set the empty cup down on the coffee table, he found Derek watching him with an amused expression.

 

 “You forgot,” Derek smirked.

 

 “I did not,” Stiles protested. “I remembered, I did I was just…distracted,” he added the latter a little weakly and gave Derek an obvious once-over. “You look good. Where are we going?”

 

 Derek hesitated. “We can postpone if would rather rest?”

 

 Stiles flailed. “What? No! No, no, no. We need to do this, like yesterday. I’m ready, I am _so_ ready.” He sprang to his feet, then halted, looking down at himself. “Errr, should I change?” Derek had implied that he wanted to handle the arrangements for their date and so Stiles had no idea what was going on.

 

 Derek’s eyes clouded over with that look as he surveyed Stiles quickly, a shy sort of admiration. “You look great,” he said, though in a voice that suggested he thought Stiles looked much better than that. He looked as if he were practically vibrating with nervous tension though; it made the protective instinct in Stiles flare up.

 

 Derek intercepted anything he might do before it even came to him, snatching up his dark grey jacket off the hook near the door. He turned to face him with it in his hand. “We go?”

 

 Stiles waited.

 

 “Let’s go?” Derek tried again, voice sounding more sure now.

 

 Stiles glanced at the clock on the shelf that had been an anniversary present from his dad to his mom. It was just gone five. He could eat though, he supposed. He could always eat. He bid goodbye to his dad, if they got moving he thought perhaps that’d appease Derek’s uncertainty. It seemed to work to some degree, the tension leaving his body as they moved. He even coaxed a smile from the corner of Derek’s lips as he reached out on the ride down in the lift and brushed his knuckles against Derek’s fingers.

 

 “Better,” Stiles noted, smiling back when he felt Derek’s fingers curl into his in return. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask Derek if he’d ever held hands with someone but he bit it back at the last moment.

 

 Derek hesitated when they reached the Camaro, the halt in his steps making Stiles pause too, with how their fingers were linked. “I…wanted let you. But your shoulder…” He gestured at Stiles’s bad shoulder, where the hot swell of pain was currently still absent and Stiles realised what Derek was saying. Or thought he did, at least.

 

 “I…you’re going to let me drive the Camaro?” He asked with disbelief.

 

 Derek focussed on his shoulder again. “If hurts–”

 

 “No!” Stiles cried, then a little more softly but no less fast, “no, no, no, no, please? I’m good, werewolf mojo still working great. Can I? Please?” That earned him another of those crooked little smiles and he beamed excitedly back when Derek dropped the Camaro keys into his hands.

 

 Stiles cackled, then struggled to recover his equilibrium at the sight of Derek’s arched eyebrows.

 

 “I’m a responsible adult, I promise,” he said seriously, making sure to temper his excitement as he took the driver’s seat and slid the key in the ignition. Even the little _schnick_ he felt in doing so was out of this world. Behind the wheel, the car just felt different. It had been lovingly cared for and just the feel of the wheel under his hands made an odd little shiver run through him. He glanced at Derek.

 

 “Alright?” Derek asked carefully, as if he weren’t sure why Stiles wasn’t gunning it through the car park.

 

 “Yeah-huh,” Stiles said quickly, carefully checking all the mirrors before reversing out of the space. Derek loved this car. There were very few personal effects in his apartment upstairs, at least nothing beyond the photos of the Hales from various newspaper clippings and a few lovingly framed actual photographs that Derek had once told him were developed from negatives kept in their family safety deposit box. But this car, it was a tangible thing from Derek’s past, something he openly cared for and the fact that he was letting Stiles drive it was…overwhelming. He felt a little light-headed with what that meant.

 

 “I think clear,” Derek said wryly, gesturing to road ahead.

 

 Stiles swallowed. He thought he may be sweating a bit, but another glance at Derek showed that cursed amused affection in place of the tension he’d assumed would be there. _Because Derek trusts me_ , he thought, giving him a nod as he pulled out onto the road.

 

 “Take right here, to preserve,” Derek said as Stiles slowly eased up into third. Slowly being the operative word.

 

 “You want me to drive your precious through the woods?!” Stiles cried, moments away from calling it all off and leaping out of the driver’s seat at the side of the road. He’d (only partially in jest) begged to drive the Camaro every time they went somewhere together and Derek had always given him that look, those raised eyebrows that clearly said ‘you really think so?’ But now he realised the gravity of the trust he was being shown he felt quite sick.

 

 “Quiet road beside,” Derek elaborated. Then after a little while, when Stiles had pulled away from downtown Beacon Hills and out toward the preserve, Derek added, “where I go. To think.”

 

 Stiles kept his eyes on the road with the kid of focus that was near-on impossible to his easily distracted brain. As he pulled onto the deserted tarmac Derek had described, however, he saw Derek reach out to press the button to roll the windows down. It was a fairly warm evening and as Stiles rode up through the gears, the breeze whisked through. After assuring himself the road was straight and clear of all risks and potential casualties, Stiles darted another glance at Derek to see him resting his head back against the headrest, eyes closed, apparently simply inhaling the evening air.

 

 Stiles’s heart skipped a beat. It must’ve been loud enough for Derek’s senses to pick up, because out of his peripheral vision he sensed Derek turn his head to look at him and a moment later, his fingers smoothed over Stiles’s thigh.

 

 “Stiles,” Derek murmured, squeezing his leg through the denim, “meant to be fun.”

 

 “I…I am having fun,” Stiles began, “I–”

 

 “No one for miles,” Derek assured him, letting his thumb brush across Stiles’s thigh casually, distractedly, making Stiles’s breath hitch. “Go faster.” The way Derek half-whispered, half growled that request with playful huskiness made Stiles’s blood boil in his veins. He hesitated, but the road did look clear and Derek’s senses were keeping track of their surroundings, ever on the look-out for Argents or omegas, as well as potential hazards to his baby.

 

 The stereo was off and so the roar of the Camaro was all that filled his ears, that was until a bark of laughter rushed from Derek. Stiles couldn’t risk the swiftest look, the glaring brightness of Derek’s carefree smile, all teeth and happiness and freedom that Stiles had never seen before. It was infectious. His own face splitting into a grin, he tore up the empty road, the windows down, Derek smiling and the sky bleeding into a warm, stunning pinkish-red. He didn’t think he’d experienced a more perfect afternoon in years.

 

They rode up to the _‘You Are Leaving Beacon Hills’_ sign and back again a few times. On the final drive back, when the sky was inky and illuminated only by the not-quite full moon, Derek gestured across Stiles.

 

“Turn here,” he said, sounding relaxed and comfortable. There was a pretty wide dirt road up ahead in the direction Derek had pointed.

 

 “You want me to drive your Camaro off road?” Stiles asked, but slowed down to a more sensible pace and pulled off as instructed. It was pretty smooth terrain, albeit rising slightly the further into the trees they wet. He didn’t go far and he thought he saw some lights in the far distance.

 

 “Here’s good,” Derek said, slipping off his seatbelt and sliding out the door when Stiles pulled the car to a stop.

 

 “Hey, what…?” Stiles double-checked the handbrake and then scrambled out after him.

 

 The moon didn’t provide quite enough light for him to be sure-footed, but Derek was only a few feet in front of the bonnet of the car. He stumbled forward to Derek’s side. Anything he’d been about to say died on his lips, however, as he looked at what lay before them. Far, far below the outcropping they were parked on, the lights of Beacon Hills twinkled like a blanket of multi-hued stars. His lips moved soundlessly, the breeze, which had picked up now they stood on an exposed cliffside, rushed through his hair, against his cheeks. He felt stunned by how big his hometown, which he’d scarcely left his whole life, looked from up there.

 

 For just that moment he felt as if he could do anything, that the whole world was stretched out beneath their feet, a wide expanse of opportunities.

 

 Derek moved closer, knuckles brushing tenderly at the outside of Stiles’s wrist. The gentle caress drew Stiles back from his reverie, the breath back into his lungs and he let his fingers curl around Derek’s. “Derek,” he began, a little breath taken still. When he turned his head, Derek’s eyes were shining with the light, a little more than Stiles thought was humanly possible. They were shining with an edge of gold, perhaps to see him better in the dimness, where Stiles could only catch his face as the moon and the headlights allowed.

 

 “We all come here. _Came_ here. Used to,” Derek said softly.

 

 Stiles swallowed. “You and your family?”

 

 Derek nodded. “Hales have protect Beacon Hills, years. We here watching sometimes but also…” He hesitated, searching Stiles’s face as if it held inspiration for all the words he could need. “Tradition and…beauty.”

 

 The words left Stiles before he could stop them, however clichéd and embarrassing they may be. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, the wind nearly carrying his words away. The slow smile that spread over Derek’s face was like molten gold, bright and worth a fortune. “And well, you know, the view is pretty amazing too,” Stiles added, a flush touching his cheeks.

 

 Derek’s free hand rose and curled around his neck, just resting there for a long time as that gaze caressed his eyes and lips. Then Derek drew him in. Their lips met with just the brush of a butterfly’s wing. It was always so, when these moments began between them. Derek drew back just enough to search his expression. There was something just so charming about Derek’s honest desire to please him, his uncertainty and awkwardness about anything intimate such a contrast to the dark brooding strength of his appearance. It was like he was this shy schoolboy with Stiles, just for Stiles, like he didn’t have to pretend to be anything else, anything harder.

 

 Both of Stiles’s hands flew up to cup his face, his jaw, bringing their mouths together hard and urgent now. He felt more than heard Derek’s surprised, yearning groan against his mouth, swallowed the sound readily and pushed forward for more. Derek’s hands gripped his shoulders, his forearms, his fingers clenching and unclenching as Stiles urged his tongue into open-mouthed kisses and stepped into his space until Derek’s legs were pressed against the Camaro.

 

 One of Stiles’s hands slid down to cover the hard muscle of Derek’s chest through his shirt. He was warm, breathing hard. When his fingers splayed, dipping lower, though, he felt Derek tense and he remembered. He laid softer, breathless kisses on Derek’s mouth, stroking back up with his hand, only to have it pinned to Derek’s body by broad, firm fingers.

 

 “Sorry,” Derek breathed against his mouth, “it’s…a lot.”

 

 Stiles canted his head forward, pressing his forehead against Derek’s as he breathed in. He didn’t have werewolf senses but he could smell warm skin and expensive fabric conditioner and the leather from Derek’s jacket. “If you apologise again I’ll bite you,” he admonished gently, teasingly, stepping back to see a little smile again.

 

 “ _I’m_ the wolf,” Derek mused.

 

 “Yeah, but I’m wicked fierce,” Stiles replied, making claws with his hands and leaping back out of Derek’s grasp when he took a swipe at him, stumbling back onto his ass in the process. He found himself spread out on the ground, laughing in a heap with Derek standing over him, staring down with raised brows.

 

 “Wicked clumsy,” Derek murmured, lowering himself to the ground with a little more eloquence and grace.

 

 Stiles starfished in mock protest, jutting his chin up to the stars and determinedly not looking at Derek in defence of his bruised pride. And ass. Derek lay flat beside him, their heads parallel but upside down. His fingers brushed along the inside of Stiles’s wrist, barely there, gentle circles at his pulse point and Stiles shivered.

 

 “Cold?” Derek asked but when Stiles tilted his head to look at him, his eyes were sparkling with a teasing light.

 

 “You’re such a dork,” Stiles said affectionately, letting his hand that had been resting in the grass somewhere below Derek’s head come up to card through his dark hair. He thought distractedly that Derek’s eyes, human looking again now, were shining with an extraordinary light that spoke of carefree wonder in spite of all the horror they’d seen, the kind that shone brighter than the stars.

 

 “Talk to me,” Stiles murmured softly into the night, still staring at Derek’s face.

 

 Derek’s expression flickered briefly. “About?”

 

 Stiles shrugged. “Anything. Stuff Laura knows. Stuff no one else knows. Anything.”

 

 When Stiles saw Derek’s face shutter with uncertainty, he let the fingers that had been curled in the hair at the back of Derek’s neck massage gently, encouragingly. “I like hearing you talk, you know?” he said, husky and intimate, the cool grass tickling his cheek. He thought he could _see_ Derek listening to his heartbeat, as if sensing a lie was instinctual, even a well-meant one. That was fine with him, Derek wouldn’t find one.

 

 Derek’s lashes fluttered momentarily, as if the strength he needed to find coherent words lay behind his eyelids. When he opened them again, his eyes were dark but shining with the reflection of the moon and the Camaro’s headlights. He looked stronger than Stiles had ever seen him, like he could tear through steel with his bare hands. “Something extraordinary?” he asked Stiles softly.

 

 Maybe he needed a little direction. Stiles scratched his fingers against the hair just at the base of Derek’s skull. He would have to remember the way it made Derek’s eyelids shutter a fraction.

 

 “What’s it like to be in the body of a wolf?”

 

 “Simple,” Derek said after a moment of searching. His brow wrinkled with concentration but no frustration, Stiles thought, as he tried to form a sentence that reflected his thoughts. “Let me forget, worries, pain,” he set his mouth, apparently unable to find the right word to pinpoint what he really meant.

 

 Stiles urged Derek’s head forward just a fraction, enough so that their noses touched. He closed his eyes and just breathed, stroking over Derek’s hair at his nape. “It’s an escape, right?”

 

 “Mmm,” Derek replied in the affirmative, his knuckles brushing over Stiles’s cheekbone, causing Stiles’s eyes to open. There was something so intimate in looking at Derek this close, at feeling their breath on his skin. His cheeks felt hot in the cool evening air.

 

 “But when a long time…” Derek sighed. “When like that a long time, forget too much. I start to.”

 

 “Did you change a lot, before?”

 

 Derek looked wistful then. “Me, Mom, Laura, we could. Did. Rest pack couldn’t. But on full moons we all run… _ran_ , burn off…” He gestured with his free hand and Stiles got it.

 

 “Burn off the antsy feelings Laura said you got on the full moon, right? The adrenaline and instincts and all that?”

 

 With a nod, Derek continued. “Then…here.”

 

 They came here. Their family came here on full moons to watch over their territory, their home and share each other’s company and comfort at a time they all felt it most keenly. They connected here, Stiles guessed, the way he and his parents had on their annual barbecues out back of their old house. The way Stiles had with his mom in the Jeep with their silly singing to outdated cheesy songs and their sneaky drive through meals. It made it that more startling that Derek had wanted to share this place with him.

 

 “And when you changed that last time?” Stiles asked. It came out before he could stop himself, curiosity overcoming his sensitivity without permission. Thankfully, Derek just seemed to inwardly sigh, as if there was nothing else for it.

 

 “I not… _did not_ choose. Just happen.”

 

 Stiles thought by the look in Derek’s eyes that they were both thinking the same thing, that it’d been an instinctive defence mechanism to protect himself from the guilt, from the loss. They both suspected that perhaps part of the reason Derek had experienced such problems changing back that last time was because, not only had he let it go so long, started to forget what it was to be human, but also because a part of him had been afraid of what awaited him.

 

 He moistened his dry lips. “How did you turn back?”

 

 Derek’s initial response was a low, staggered sigh. “Not my…” He grit his teeth, bordering on impatience with himself before he managed, “not my story.”

 

 Stiles blinked, feeling like an absolute jerk but as his lips parted in apology, Derek’s knuckles brushed up along his hairline, smoothing a few wayward strands back off his forehead.

 

 “After fire, Laura was…” He winced, as if the thought of whatever he was about to say physically pained him. “Was a struggle. She is alpha, feels...”

 

 “Responsible?” Stiles suggested. The look in Derek’s eyes was enough answer. “She took it all on herself.”

 

 “Broke her,” Derek whispered, voice rough. “Making career, try to help me, too much. She one day...cut with a wolfsbane covered knife.” He said it all quickly almost clumsily as if the memory made panic swell in his chest. “Wrists,” he added grimly. “Lived in one of South America pack houses. Strong doors, like…”

 

 “Reinforced,” Stiles said distractedly, able to see what had happened before his eyes as if he had witnessed it himself, purely from the horror in Derek’s face.

 

 Derek nodded shortly. “Reinforced. Protect, stop us, if wolves lose control. Hale House had too. _Had them too_. I…I couldn’t open, not as a wolf. I tried.”

 

 Stiles’s eyes stung as he imagined a wolf Derek, a double of the wolf he’d watched Laura revert from, imagined him smelling the blood, the sorrow, throwing himself over and over again at the door. He imagined the wolf scrabbling at the surface until his claws bled, could almost see the creature shudder and howl and plead with inhuman whines like an abused dog. He knew it now. Whatever humanity had remained in Derek had known it too. Derek had found his true shape to save his sister in more ways than one.

 

 “I did not… I…” Derek sighed, rolling onto his back and staring up at the stars, leaving Stiles staring at his profile. “Did that to her.” He drove her to that act of desperation, Derek meant. He carried the guilt of that with him too, not just the guilt of the fire. “Thought, she… _better_ without me. But she, she did all for me. Everything. Work, move home two times, all for me. Still now, what am I for her? I…I’m…”

 

 Stiles scrambled up onto his elbow so fast Derek never had a chance to finish his sentence. He shifted until his face hovered above Derek, face stern, resolute. “You listen to me,” Stiles said, firm but with a little quaver of emotion to his voice. “I’m not saying you didn’t fuck up, Derek. No one is perfect, but you were grieving and you were fifteen and you just wanted the pain to stop, then once you started losing yourself you thought the world would be better off without you in it. That’s called depression, at least it’s a part of it. It happens everyday, all over the world, what matters is that you _fought back_.”

 

 He announced the last two words slowly, concisely and when he saw the guilt remain on Derek’s face he sat back with a sigh of his own. He shifted until he was staring out across the ocean of lights below, the tide of life ebbing and flowing under their very eyes.

 

 After a few moments, the headlights of the Camaro switched off, then Derek settled again at his side. He sat with his legs drawn up, like Stiles, arms folded over his knees, elbows nudging Stiles slightly, feet resting next to his in the grass. Stiles could feel his warmth as they stared down the world together and he didn’t think he’d ever felt so connected to someone in his whole life. They weren’t touching, they weren’t talking or even looking at each other but there was an intimacy between them, an ironclad solidarity that stood immovable as stone in the face of whatever lay in wait in the world below.

 

 Derek was strong, unbelievably strong to have endured what he had, what he was still struggling through. He could only dream of being that strong, of experiencing all that and then offering it to him, Stiles, exposing his jugular like the ultimate sign of trust between wolves.

 

 What could he do to convince him but do the same?

 

 “When my mom died,” Stiles began shakily, “my dad started drinking…” He fidgeted, laying his hands flat on the grass either side of him. He hadn’t shared this with anyone, not even Scott or Lydia. “Not every day but more and more each time. I…I pretended I was okay because I hoped it’d help him be okay and he…he was there for me. He was. He devoted everything to me, he worked his ass off at the station too but when I was in bed and he didn’t have work the next day he’d just drink and drink and he’d…”

 

 Stiles thought back to that time he’d snuck out of his room to see his dad stumble across the living room almost too drunk to stand. His dad had held it together so well every night except for those, the drinking nights when he fell apart, when he sank to low, dark place he never had a chance of crawling back out of. Until…

 

 “I…I started having panic attacks when my mom got sick, you know? And my dad, he got into this black hole of drinking to cope whenever he could, whenever he thought I was…” Whenever his dad had thought he, Stiles, was safe. Except it was never safe to be that far gone, that out of it when pain was the driving force behind the escape. When you had a child that needed you, no matter how grown up that child tried to be. The depth of the pain that drove it, it made it understandable but it didn’t make it safe.

 

 It was the ultimate weakness, admitting that his hero, his dad was as real and flawed as every other human, a real man with real pain he couldn’t always conquer. His dad had always been impossibly perfect up until then, elevated up on a pedestal to an unrealistic height. Stiles swallowed. Then strong fingers entangled with his in the grass between them and he grasped them back. “I was awake. I watched him get so drunk he couldn’t see straight and cry over old family movies and I saw him, I saw the footage of my mom and I just thought…all I could think of was losing him like I lost her.”

 

 The fingers entwined with his gripped tighter, encouraging, but it was Derek that spoke next, deducing what Stiles couldn’t say. “Panic attack.”

 

 Stiles nodded, his throat thick. “I had a panic attack right there in the hall in my batman pyjamas and he was so out of it…” He winced. “The shock of seeing me like that, when he eventually realised what was happening, I think it cut through it. Adrenaline or whatever. I don’t even really understand it myself but he got me through it. He poured every drop from the liquor cabinet down the sink the next morning and he’s never touched a drop since.” He turned to look at Derek then, meeting his eyes with just the moonlight to see by. He thought his own eyes were wet and there was a little prickle of shame there, but only a little. He felt more naked in front of Derek than the absence of clothes could create and yet…it was okay.

 

 “My dad lost the love of his life, he tried to do everything he could for me, for himself but he was grieving, he got lost, just like you did, Derek,” Stiles whispered roughly, voice cracking a little on Derek’s name. “He got lost and he fucked up, _badly_ , but he fought back when it mattered, he found himself before it was too late. He’s a good dad, a good man.”

 

 Derek’s eyes scanned his with a little frown wrinkled above them. “I know,” he said earnestly, softly, like he was worried Stiles would think he thought otherwise. “He’s a good man.”

 

 Stiles gave Derek a watery but bright smile, cocking his head slightly. “Derek, so are you.”

 

 He watched Derek process that, watched a weight leave him like a ghost that had been exorcised.  The aftermath of the possession lingered, could only be healed with time but the spectre responsible had been banished. After a long moment, Derek smiled, turning his gaze back to the lights of Beacon Hills. “Should be therapist,” he mused.

 

 Stiles snorted, tipping sideways to lean against Derek’s shoulder. He let his head rest there, just in the crook of Derek’s neck as he too turned his gaze outward. Derek’s arm twitched in an abortive movement, then seemed to gain courage, confidence. It snuck around his back where it hung loosely, holding him close but not tight. “Are you kidding me?” Stiles asked, “I wouldn’t be able to sit still long enough to listen to someone.”

 

 “You do for me,” Derek said.

 

 Stiles smirked, tilting his head back to look up at Derek, who twisted his neck to meet his gaze. “Well, that’s just because I like you so much.”

 

 The only answer he received was the barest flicker of a smile, green eyes surveying him from under a dark spread of lowered lashes, then the feeling of a warm mouth on his. Derek pushed into him, the arm wrapped around Stiles’s body seeming to pull him up into it as well. Stiles exhaled into it, trying to sneak his arms up to embrace Derek back but they were caught between their chests so he could only sink into the hard muscle enveloping him.

 

 If someone had told him revealing everything and laying himself bare, risking it all would be so cathartic he would have denied it vehemently, but here he was. He felt raw, like something scrubbed too hard to get clean but he did feel clean, fresh, light, floating somewhere above the world below with Derek wrapped around him. An anchor in the storm.

 

 A little gasp-groan tugged from him when Derek’s tongue touched his almost shyly, stubble scratching perfectly as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss.

 

 Just when Stiles had tugged an arm free to loop around Derek’s neck, he heard a familiar, disembodied song cut through the noise of his raspy breaths and blood pounding in his ears. It was accompanied by rhythmic vibrating and Stiles stilled, cracking his eyes open in time to see Derek draw back a fraction. His eyes were dazed and shining vibrant gold under a brow furrowed with confusion.

 

 “Is that…?” Stiles began, feeling a little giddy and kiss-bruised himself. “Meredith Brooks?” She wasn’t exactly his favourite artist but Lydia had listened to enough of her way back when and he _definitely_ knew this song.

 

 Derek grumbled as he drew back. “Laura,” he sighed with a sheepish expression.

 

 A sharp burst of laughter was tugged out of Stiles’s lips. “Your sister’s ringtone is ‘I’m A Bitch’?”

 

 Derek smirked. “She set it. Thinks funny,” he mused, reaching for the pocket of his jacket. He froze before he even drew the phone out.

 

 “Derek?” Stiles asked, an eerie sense of foreboding creeping up in him as he watched Derek incline his head slightly, visibly listening, probably sniffing too. His face morphed into one of outright horror for a split second before he leapt to his feet.

 

 “Up,” Derek snapped. He grabbed a fistful of Stiles’s shirt and hauling him up, when Stiles didn’t move quickly enough. “In car.”

 

 “What? Derek, what’s–?”

 

 “In the car!” Derek snarled.

 

 Stiles went for the passenger side door and only just got his seatbelt on before the Camaro growled to life. The force of Derek swinging the car around made him jerk in his seat. Derek’s face was set hard with focus as he tore up the dirt track to the right, rather than the way they’d initially come. Stiles felt his heart pounding in his chest. It was completely dark under the cover of trees and though the headlights provided some light, Stiles found himself flinching as they seemed to leap out of the darkness out of nowhere.

 

 Derek’s phone was still ringing frantically in Derek’s pocket.

 

 “Derek?” Stiles asked warily.

 

 Derek’s hands were white-knuckled over the steering wheel.

 

 “Derek, fucking say something!” Stiles demanded as Meredith Brooks reached her peak for the fourth time.

 

 “Hunters,” Derek growled out as they tore through the woods. “I heard, smell them. Need to get Laura.”

 

 “Well then shouldn’t we answer the phone?” Stiles replied in disbelief. He reached for Derek’s jacket pocket and tugged the phone out of it so Derek didn’t have to take his eyes off the nonexistent road. As soon as he pushed the ‘ _Answer’_ button and put the phone to his ear he heard Laura’s voice, slightly higher than usual and yet rumbling with an angry, terrified growl at the same time.

 

 “What the fuck, Derek?!” She snapped.

 

 “Laura,” Stiles cut her off quickly, “Laura we’re in the woods near Hale House. Derek says hunters are following us.”

 

 There was a pause. “What do you mean Derek says?” she asked, voice wary, shaken. It sounded as if the world was crashing down around her. Stiles didn’t think the news of hunters was the sole cause of it, especially not if she was the one to ring them in the first place.

 

 “We got in the Camaro as quick as we could, Derek’s driving,” Stiles said, talking quickly, knowing they needed Laura to reach them as soon as possible. He remembered the way Gerard had admitted defeat when he’d realised Laura was coming that night at the crossroads. They needed to get to Laura. But at the thought of Gerard, he remembered those cold eyes, remembered the feel of the gun at his mouth, remembered his stomach twisting, threatening to lose control of the contents of his stomach at the threat of it. He didn’t realise he was shaking until he nearly dropped the phone from his ear.

 

 “Stiles?” Derek asked, concern thick in his voice even as he sped through the trees.

 

 “Breathe, Stiles,” Laura said, kind but firm, the way his dad did when his breaths started to come a little too short, dangerously close to a panic attack. “Keep it together, kid, don’t lose it now, we need to keep together on this, okay?”

 

 Stiles nodded even though she couldn’t see. He counted slowly backward in his head to try and steady his breathing. She was right. Now wasn’t the time to break apart. “How far away are you?” he asked, voice cracking a bit.

 

 “I…” Laura’s words were the ones that came out like a croak then, “I…yes. I’m on my way. Tell Derek to go to the house. They’ll be wary of approaching in case you’re not alone. It’ll buy you time.”

 

 “Laura,” Stiles murmured, half not wanting to know the answer to the question burning at the tip of his tongue, “Laura why do you sound so worried? Why did you call?”

 

 There was another silence then, a hesitation, a moment they couldn’t really afford in a crisis that was so unlike Laura that it was almost as bone-chilling as the sight of the headlights blazing out of the dark suddenly behind them. Derek floored the gas, sending the Camaro roaring forward but the lights were keeping up. Stiles’s heart hammered fast, hard and then Laura’s uncharacteristically shaken voice sliced through it all like a bullet going off.

 

 “I…I was going to visit our uncle after my shift. I’m there now and his...his room is empty. He’s gone.”

 

 Stiles lifted his eyes just in time to see Derek’s head twist to him briefly. “Gone?” Stiles asked, “but isn’t he–?”

 

 “He’s catatonic, he hasn’t moved since the fire. There’s no way he could’ve walked out,” Laura half-sobbed, “he didn’t so much as twitch even when we took him with us to South America to try all those supernatural remedies. Not even when the transport on the way back here took a fender during the journey. But he’s my responsibility and it’s not just…”

 

 Laura drew in a raspy, shaky breath. It was a sound of anguish barely stifled by the need to cling onto strength with fang and claw. Stiles felt his eyes prickle at the sound. Laura was so strong, like his dad, she held it together in a crisis and it sounded like she was breaking..

 

 “It’s not just that,” Laura managed shakily.

 

 “It’s not just that your catatonic Uncle miraculously vanished the same night hunters roar back into town?” Stiles demanded, a little hysterical.

 

 “Stiles,” Laura said sharply. Dddly enough the sound of panic in Stiles’s voice seemed to ground Laura, seemed to return the authority to her voice. “I rang your dad before I rang Derek. Before I could say anything he said…he’d just that second been about to call me. He was going through the CCTV of our building. There aren’t cameras on the fire escape but they’re on the wall below. The same man was found passing there frequently on random occasions, but not recently.”

 

  _Not since Derek has been staying in my room,_ Stiles’s mind added. He felt the bottom drop out of his stomach at her tone. He didn’t have time to process what it meant or where it was going, or even draw more than an unsatisfying, diminutive breath before she continued.

 

 “Stiles, it’s Peter.”

 

 Derek turned his head sharply to Stiles, to the phone at those words.

 

 The world careened into slow-motion then, as Stiles caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He looked straight ahead just in time to see a stag leap across the makeshift road.

 

 “Derek, watch out!” Stiles cried.

 

 Derek swore loudly, jerking the Camaro sideways, swerving to avoid the creature and narrowly avoiding slamming into a tree trunk. Stiles jerked forward in his seat, the sharp motion at that speed making pain rip through his shoulder like a knife. He screamed. The headlights from the pursuing car glared in his vision, roaring closer and closer.

 

 Suddenly a herd of deer thundered across their vision, covering the woods, tearing across the road like they were running from a flash fire. Stiles’s breath caught as the brakes of the pursuing SUV screeched in protest. Dirt and leaves sprayed up as it swerved, slamming hard, sideways on into a tree just feet away from the Camaro. The sound of hooves on the earth were still vibrating through the air as Derek jerked the Camaro into reverse, straightening up and shooting passed the totalled SUV into the night.

 

 “Alright?” Derek asked tightly, firmly, in control it seemed, not panicking but not looking away from the windscreen again.

 

 Stiles winced, touching his shoulder gingerly. “I think I just undid my physio,” he grumbled, gripping the abused tendons. He couldn’t decide if it hurt more or less to hold it, like a bruise. “Oh God, I’m not a stranger to pain but that is making my eyes water.”

 

 “Will look when get to Hale House,” Derek said, a shadow of guilt and worry touching his eyes, visible even from where Stiles sat.

 

 “What were those deer running from?” Stiles asked, looking in the rear-view mirror out of instinct, even though there was no way that SUV was going to be able to move after a collision like that. If he was hurting he hoped the crash had at least left the hunters in as much pain, if not more, if not taken out completely. He had a feeling that was too much to ask for. At least the deer had bought them time.

 

 Scrambling awkwardly under his seat, he locked his good hand around Derek’s fallen phone. It was scuffed but seemed to have survived okay. He dialled Laura, looking worriedly at Derek when the line just rang and rang. “I hope that means she’s too busy breaking every speed limit on her way to get to us,” he breathed, shooting a text to his dad too.

 

 His fingers were shaky, thick and clumsy. His head was pounding now as well as his heart. There were so many typos in the text that not even autocorrect had a chance but he knew his dad would get it. If the hunters were caught launching an armed assault on them, that was at least something the sheriff’s department could help with. He hoped his dad brought the whole damn station.

 

 “How far is the facility that cares for your uncle?”

 

 Derek’s face was unreadable. “Ten, maybe.”

 

 “Minutes?” Stiles asked. His only reply was a short nod, then Derek took a turn, then another, weaving seemingly blindly through the trees, until they were circling a large hill. As they pulled round, however, Stiles saw that there was a large opening that went into it and down, like nature’s own sheltered parking spot. Which was exactly what it was, apparently, a cave inside the hill large enough for three cars. Derek pulled in and killed the engine, climbing out without a word. Stiles knew to follow. Movement hurt but it kept his mind from spiralling out of control, not to mention his panic. Movement was good.

 

 “This way,” Derek said, starting forward.

 

 Stiles turned on the flashlight on Derek’s phone and stumbled after him. The trees weren’t as close together so the moon provided some light, enough for Derek perhaps but not really for Stiles. He kept up though, his shoulder and neck throbbing angrily, getting worse. There was a bruising ache in his chest as well from where the seatbelt and caught his weight in the perilous turn in the car. He grit his teeth, a little out of breath as they moved through the thinning woods.

 

 The moonlight bathed the burned shell of Hale House in pale, ethereal light. It was like something out of a horror film and a chill prickled up Stiles’s spine as he stared at it. He tried not to focus too hard on the blown out windows, too convinced he’d see shrouded figures or pale ghouls staring back at him. He didn’t stop though, didn’t falter because Derek didn’t. If this man could walk toward the charcoaled remains of his family home, where his family had burned to death without breaking stride, then so could Stiles.

 

 Stiles remained silent, not just because he was breathless, because his shoulder hurt or because he was terrified out of his mind, but because he could practically hear Derek screaming inside. He stumbled up the creaking but mostly in tact porch steps and caught Derek’s hand as he reached for the door. Derek did hesitate then, did turn to look at Stiles. His eyes were shadowed by the low light but they still seemed to shine too, open and raw, vulnerable. Scared.

 

 There was nothing Stiles could say to erase that fear, to help, all he could do was grasp Derek’s hand firmly and hope he could make him understand. “I’ve got your back,” he assured him huskily.

 

 Derek blinked, studied him a moment, before giving him a small nod. But anything he was about to say died on his lips as he cocked his head. “Hunters left car,” he said, pushing the front door open with a creak and urging Stiles inside.

 

 The house smelled of damp, decay and ash, the scent of rotting wood so pungent Stiles wondered how Derek’s comparatively sensitive nose could stand it. The floorboards groaned in negation as they crossed the hall into the kitchen at the back. The entire house was freezing, it creaked and whined like a living being in its last hours. Everything was varying shades of black, grey and dark, rotting green.

 

 The door to the kitchen dropped clean off its hinges when they moved through and Stiles flinched at the sound, deafening in the relative quiet of the building. There was a reinforced door that he thought lead down to the basement, which stood closed and the backdoor the same. The windows there were boarded up clumsily but some of the boards had fallen away, whether from the passage of time or the initial poor quality of the job Stiles wasn’t sure.

 

 “Hurt,” Derek muttered, reaching out to carefully tug Stiles’s jacket away from his neck.

 

 A sound of strained, barely contained anguish was torn from Stiles in spite of his harshly clenched teeth. There was no stopping it. God it hurt. Adrenaline was fading and the throbbing was getting worse. Derek gently pressed the pads of his forefinger and thumb to either side of Stiles’s nape. Stiles’s eyes watered and he flinched away on instinct, even as Derek’s free hand came up to splay on his chest, holding him in place.

 

 “Sshh,” Derek soothed, eyes focussed but tender with concern. He traced the width of Stiles’s neck with a barely-there caress, assessing the damage before pressing down again gently. Those black tendrils must’ve been drawing the pain away again because the relief was instantaneous. Stiles whimpered for another reason, bracing himself with one arm against the blackened, sooty wall as light-headedness rushed through him at the weight being removed.

 

 Derek’s hand shifted to his sore shoulder which felt burning hot, already swelling slightly under Derek’s cool fingers. The pain there was drained away to a dull ache and Stiles staggered clumsily as he turned. Derek’s face was pinched tight with pain but when he saw Stiles’s looking he shrugged it away, shaking off his hand and arm as if dismissing pins and needles.

 

 “Thank you,” Stiles whispered, wrapping his arms around himself. He felt a bit light-headed and sore, but the pain was gone for now. He wondered what damage it could’ve done, if his treatment would have to be altered again if they got out of this. He watched in confusion as Derek opened a sturdy door to what appeared to have once been a pantry of sorts.

 

 “Window in there, can escape if goes bad. But be safe here,” Derek said, voice sounding a thousand miles away.

 

 Stiles frowned. “You want us to hide in the kitchen cupboard?”

 

 “No. You.”

 

 Stiles felt stunned. For just a moment the uneasy prickle up the back of his neck, the pounding fear in his chest all halted in utter shock at that. Derek wanted him to hide away in here while he and Laura faced the hunters. Stiles just stared. He wouldn’t say he had a hero complex, not really and he was fully aware that Laura and Derek had healing powers as well as supernaturally strength, that he did not, but it wasn’t in him to just hide and let people he cared about go it alone.

 

 He vaguely remembered getting his first black eye on leaping to Scott’s defence as a kid, when Tucker’s younger brother had snatched his inhaler off him. He remembered a little more clearly seeing his dad approaching that guy trying to steal that woman’s car. He’d been afraid, of course he had but it’d been instinctive to help his friend, help his dad no matter how scared he was.

 

 It was instinctive now.

 

 “I’m not leaving you,” Stiles said firmly.

 

 Derek glowered at him. “Weak. _Human_.”

 

 Stiles knew they were constrained for time and Derek wasn’t exactly able to put it more eloquently than that, but he still scowled in response. “I’m not particularly eager to get another gun shoved against my teeth but you were pretty helpless last time we came across some hunters yourself,” he snapped, impatient and afraid and not caring if Derek knew either. “They took you down like a bad puppy with a bark collar, Derek.”

 

 Derek snarled but when he tore forward, gripping Stiles’s biceps firmly, in spite of Stiles’s hiss of pain, there was only fear in his eyes. “Not safe,” Derek demanded, voice raspy. “Can’t let you. _Stay in_ –”

 

 He cut off so suddenly it was like he’d been slapped. His brows were pulled tight together in a frown but he’d jerked his head to the side as if listening for something Stiles’s senses couldn’t pick up on. Then he was moving, slow at first, then faster, like water leaking before bursting from the dam. Stiles followed, nearly slamming into him as he halted in front of one of the loosely boarded up front windows to stare out into the overgrown front lawn.

 

 The world was still outside. Stiles looked to Derek, who was as still as stone, focussed on something outside that was invisible to Stiles’s eyes. But before he could say anything, he saw it. A figure seemed to bleed out of the darkness. Stiles squinted through the slats partially covering the window. “It’s Laura,” he whispered, making a move toward the front door. Derek’s hand shot out to grip his good arm, stilling him, though his eyes had never drifted from the window.

 

 “Something…something else,” Derek murmured, clearly confused. He visibly sniffed then. “I don’t…”

 

 Then he jerked around.

 

 A second later, there was a low groan of wood that reached even Stiles’s ears, but from somewhere beyond the kitchen, not from the front porch. Stiles took a step back to the wall, to Derek and as he did so, Derek moved in front of him, poised as if to strike.

 

 “Derek?” Stiles whispered, heart hammering. The house seemed to whisper, silent and deafening all at once with its secrets, with its loss. It was like it could see all that was about to happen and was crying out its warning. The wood sang again, an eerie wail in the night. Then there was a growl that definitely didn’t come from the house.

 

 A sudden crash ripped through the air. Stiles felt his insides clench with horror when the battered, thin wall between the hall and the kitchen exploded inwards, torn to pieces as a beast tore through it with all the force of a freight train. Blood screamed in Stiles’s ears as he saw it. It was a man, he thought. But its skin was mottled with bloodied patches of fur, its eyes piercing blue and its face twisted into a canine muzzle with fangs and ridged flesh. It snarled, insane with bloodlust and bolted toward them.

 

 Derek shot forward to intercept him, to direct him away from Stiles. There was no anticipating the force with which it hit him though. It slammed them both hard straight though the fragile wood and caught Stiles as they went, dragging him through after them. A sharp grunt of pain was pounded from Stiles’s lungs as he was flattened to his back on the porch outside. His entire body screamed with renewed pain in his already abused limbs, even as the momentum of the collision carried Derek and the beast away from him and right off the porch.

 

 “Derek!” He choked, tasting copper on his tongue. He hissed, feeling dazed and limbs weak, slow to respond. He’d had the wind knocked out of him with that collision with the floor. Using all his strength to throw himself onto his bruised torso, he hauled himself forward on his elbows in a half crawl to the now splintered edge of the porch.

 

 Laura, who had frozen in shock far across the clearing, was now running toward them. Stiles let out a hiss of pain, hauling himself to his feet by bracing himself against one of the support posts for the porch roof. He saw Derek pinned beneath the beast. His own face was morphed into that semi-shift, ridged, gold-eyed, pointy-eared. It was something Laura had described to him but he’d never seen for himself. Derek’s fangs were bared but it was the insane, slathering fangs of the beast above him that were the danger, gnashing perilously close to his face. Derek had one forearm braced against the thing’s throat, _just_ holding him at bay as it bore down onto him.

 

 A roar of warning sounded. Laura crouched on all-fours as she ran, her body shuddering as she started to shift. She was close. She wasn’t going to make it. Stiles shook himself, felt adrenaline give strength to his protesting muscles and snatched up the nail-embedded strip of wood that lay in the wreckage around him that had once been the wall. He dropped off the edge of the porch into the skirmish. His knees trembled in protest at the drop but it didn’t matter.

 

 With a snarl of his own Stiles threw himself forward, threw everything he had behind the chunk of wood and brought it hard across the side of the beast’s head as it turned to check his proximity. The nails raked spitefully across its face, sending blood spraying outward. It howled, rearing up on its deformed hind legs.

 

 Derek roared as it lunged for Stiles, hurling himself forward onto his hands and using the momentum to swing his legs to the side with a force that sent the beast flying back. He rose to his feet next to Stiles just as the beast rose again a few feet away, Laura skidding to a halt before them, between them and the creature.

 

 “Breathe,” Derek managed roughly and it wasn’t until Stiles felt a firm hand on his good shoulder that he realised Derek was talking to him. His breaths were coming out hard and fast, so fast it hurt and he was starting to feel dizzy in ways unrelated to the meeting with the porch. He nodded firmly, trying to keep himself together.

 

 The sight of the beast leaning forward on its grotesque forelegs didn’t help. Unlike the beauty of Laura’s shifted form, the sleek dark-furred wolf, this was nightmarish. It reached deep into his bones and making them quake with every predatory step closer.

 

 He couldn’t focus, he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think anything else besides _fuck, fuck, FUCK_.

 

 There had been very few times in his life where he’d been rooted to the spot as the world upended beneath him, jerking him into a seemingly perpetual spin he couldn’t control. Those moments had frozen him in place as everything passed in slow motion, making him sick with the notion that whatever he decided next would change his life forever. Watching his mom’s hand twitch in unconsciousness as the monitors beeped frantically at the end, watching his dad approach the man trying to steal that car, feeling that gun against his lips. None of the fear had stopped him from reaching out every time.

 

 The vital nature of the situation had never stopped him from acting.

 

 He gripped Derek’s arm as the creature bared its teeth at them, as Laura bowed low, the brown, glossy coat of the wolf she displayed a clear warning. He was scared and part of him wished he _had_ stayed in that kitchen cupboard, but that part was growing smaller the more afraid he became. Derek was here, Laura was here, his dad was probably on his way, he wouldn’t be anywhere else.

 

 A shot ripped through the night and everything stopped.

 

 Laura took a step back toward them as she, Stiles, Derek and the beast all looked up into the sky. The unusual flare shot up with a burning tail of sparking orange fire, illuminating the clearing. The beast bowed its head, an agonised whine dragging from its distorted _Wolf Man_ mouth as if invisible sparks had seared through its flesh.

 

 Stiles frowned at the sight, at the way the creature cowered and felt himself step forward a fraction, squinting at it. Its flesh…

 

 “Stiles,” Derek warned and though Stiles didn’t move any closer, he couldn’t tear his gaze away either, even as he spoke to Derek.

 

 “Its fur, its skin, do you see it?” he murmured urgently, words coming out faster the more he spoke. He glanced then to Derek to ensure he was listening. Derek was focussed on the beast, as was Laura but he was certain they heard him. “It – _he_ is covered in burns, raw patches, old and new.”

 

 Derek flinched as if the sight of them hurt him too. “Stiles,” Derek said again, voice low, raw. His eyes were burning gold, reflecting the falling light of the flare. His face was shifted still, frozen in a menacing grimace, fangs forcing his lips to part and yet Stiles could still see the anguish in him, in spite of his altered face. He just didn’t get it.

 

 Laura shifted, her head lowering with a rumbling, enquiring whine of her own.

 

 Stiles’s glanced between them all, completely lost, sure he was missing something. Then Derek spoke.

 

 “It’s Peter.” His voice cracked and Stiles felt something in his chest split along with it.

 

 This thing? It was mutated, unnatural even by werewolf standards, grotesque and horrifying. As it cowered from the firelight Stiles couldn’t help but find more questions rather than answers.

 

 “But some of those wounds, they’re new, like _brand new_ ,” he said in confusion. As far as he was aware, Laura or Derek visited Peter once a week at the care facility. Stiles had never been but he knew one of them went the same day every week, to see their uncle who was paralysed and unresponsive. Supernaturally comatose. If he’d been able to move so much as a toe, surely they’d have seen? If he’d been hurt surely his werewolf abilities would’ve healed any ‘new’ wounds unless…unless they were really new. Like within the last hour or so. Holy shit.

 

 He hadn’t realised how right he’d had it, when he’d implied that it wasn’t a coincidence Derek and Laura’s catatonic Uncle miraculously vanished the same night the hunters had returned.

 

 “Laura,” he began shakily as it all slotted into place. “Laura, they chased him here, they–”

 

 “I believe you’re ruining my entrance, Mr Stilinski,” a cold, familiar voice called from beyond the trees. The wolves around Stiles seemed to jerk at the sound of his voice. Perhaps he’d approached from downwind because they obviously hadn’t smelled him. The man, Gerard stepped out of the tree line, a flare gun in one hand and a sawn off shotgun hanging loosely from the other.

 

 There was the same unsettling smile on his face that Stiles could see even from the distance. He strode into the clearing like there weren’t three werewolves there, like he was in complete control of the situation. Stiles had the sickening suspicion that he probably was.

 

 Gerard drew closer, until he was only a few feet away from where the beast, _Peter_ was still hunched like a beaten dog under the dying light of the flare. It must’ve been modified, more flame and spark than he’d ever seen before, filling the clearing with light of a frightening intensity.

 

 Just three hunters flanked the old man, one of them holding his crossbow awkwardly in his left arm, his right held to his chest in a clumsy, make-shift sling. Another had blood beading down his temple but they all looked as if they’d survived the crash. Irritatingly, Gerard looked as if he didn’t have a scrape on him.

 

 “Oh, don’t look so glum,” he mocked them, “you took out two of my men with that little car stunt you pulled. You gave us a good run.” He sounded like a father gentling a child’s loss at a school event.

 

 “Yeah, well the race isn’t over yet, grandpa,” Stiles sneered, even though he was breathless and shaken and sore. He obviously sounded about as brave as he felt because that amused, dark smile touched that lined, twisted face again. He swore Gerard’s eyes glistened with more danger than Laura or Derek’s ever had.

 

 “I like you, Stiles, for a fornicator of wolves you’re amusing enough,” Gerard said lightly, firing the flare gun into the sky once more. Peter howled with agony as if the fire had been blasted directly into his mottled fur and Laura, Derek and Stiles all flinched, eyes watering with the distressing sight. “That’s why I’m so glad you’re here to bear witness to this Hale family reunion. It’s going to be quite the party.”

 

 Laura snarled dangerously, fangs gnashing. The muscles on her back shifted and slowly, her body changed, twisting unnaturally in shape until she was a woman once more, naked but no less imposing for it. Stiles shrugged off his jacket (a little longer than Derek’s) and passed it to her. She slipped it on, without tearing her eyes from Gerard.

 

 “You son of a bitch,” she spat, some of the wolf rumbling behind that last word. “I’m going to rip you apart.”

 

 “Aren’t you going to ask what I’ve done to your beloved uncle?” Gerard asked lightly.

 

 “So you can gloat like a comic book villain?” Stiles snapped.

 

 Laura tensed. “You’re not going to tell me how to fix him, so I’m not going to listen to you. I’m just going to give you one chance. Release whatever hold you have over him or I’ll fire that next flare between your teeth.”

 

 The hunters flanking Gerard tightened their grips on their weapons, keeping them carefully aimed at Derek and Laura but not Peter. That fact alone was more terrifying than anything else.

 

 “I think you’ll find your uncle a helpful obstruction to that, after all the time we’ve spent _rehabilitating_ him,” Gerard said. “There’s a rod for every errant child, a collar for every beast. It turns out your uncle is _very_ responsive to fire.”

 

 It was Derek that moved then. He darted forward, a roar tearing from his mouth with fury. Stiles scrabbled to grab him but he slipped through his fingers like sand. The crossbows twitched warningly but Derek was blind to it.

 

 “Derek!” Stiles cried but at the last moment Laura held out an arm to catch him. He was sure Derek could’ve dodged but the word, or the hand or the alpha was a law built into every fibre of Derek’s being, apparently. Though he snarled once more, he froze as if Laura’s arm were an iron bar holding him at bay.

 

 “Perhaps that will be your poison too, Derek?” Gerard intoned distractedly. “It took some time, nearly two years, in fact.”

 

 Stiles felt bile catch in his throat and burn there. He watched Laura maintain her perfect alpha mask but he knew inside she was screaming. Nearly the moment they’d come back to Beacon Hills the hunters had set their claws in Peter, using her attempt to make a home for them as the rod to beat him into submission with. Stiles wiped at his mouth, feeling certain he’d be sick any minute.

 

 “Peter Hale has been conditioned to expect pain at the sight of fire. He turns positively rabid at the sight of our cue.” Gerard had the tone of a bored lecturer as he spoke and every muscle in Derek’s body only tightened with every word.

 

 Stiles seethed at the helplessness he felt and could only image how the Hales were feeling. Inside he heard his dad’s voice again, urging him to keep this man talking, to survive just another moment, find a way. He didn’t like their odds and while his dad and the sheriff department didn’t exactly specialise in werewolves it couldn’t hurt. _Keep them talking, keep them talking,_ he told himself. They’d escaped this man once, they’d do it again. They would. There was no other option.

 

 “I suppose you watched the care facility to see when Laura and Derek visited to schedule your little rehabilitation?” Stiles sneered.

 

 “That’s the beauty of having someone on the inside,” Gerard replied, apparently delighted with Stiles’s interest. “Peter’s nurse added a little concoction of ours to his drip. It has wolfsbane, of course, but other things too. It allows us to mask our scents when we hunt their kind. I imagine it must be quite painful when given to a werewolf, but it did the job regardless. You didn’t pick up his scent, the scent of your own uncle at your home, did you, Laura?”

 

 Laura’s claws dug into Derek’s arm now, but it was Laura’s arm that was shaking. “You had him spy on us,” she almost whispered, voice hollow, close to breaking. They’d used her decisions to find opportunity to torture and groom her uncle into their little guard dog, to use against her and ultimately all of their kind.

_She’s their alpha, she feels responsible and she’s helpless_ , Stiles realised.

 

 “Oh, he didn’t want to,” Gerard replied, sounding almost bored. “It took months to convince him. Even though he’s positively catatonic at the best of times he can be quite stubborn. At his best behaved he simply moves according to my orders like a mindless automaton, otherwise he doesn’t move at all. Unless convinced to writhe in pain, that is.” He beamed dangerously then. “But you didn’t even know he _could_ move, did you?”

 

 Laura bristled.

 

 Derek grumbled in displeasure. “Thought was just…healing slow,” he murmured under his breath, for Laura and Stiles’s ears only. It wasn’t an unreasonable assumption, Stiles thought, the fire had been a horrific trauma to his body and mind. Derek sounded almost wounded though. Guilty that he hadn’t noticed, realised something was off.

 

 “It’s not very often a wolf is left vulnerable like him,” Gerard continued, twisting the knife. “I must admit at first we simply intended to use him as a convenient host for our experiments but once we realised he was slowly healing and could be more useful to us…” he gestured with his hands as if it was obvious what use Peter could be to them.

 

 “Once we realised you’d taken an interest in Mr Stilinski, we’d planned to have Peter bring him to us, but our plans were hampered by my son loitering around the town, chasing my every move,” he paused there, looking more vexed than he had since he’d stepped into the clearing, before focussing on Derek with a disgusted leer, “but you make a pretty good guard dog yourself, don’t you, Derek? Obviously Mr Stilinski’s tail is more of an incentive than even fire. We’ll bear that in mind when we’ve dealt with your alpha.”

 

 “Do you ever get tired of hearing your own voice?” Stiles spat. Where was his dad? Where were the flashing lights and the gun-toting calvary?

 

 “He doesn’t,” Laura sneered, rage making her voice shake. “He’s not finished gloating about how he brought my uncle here to tear me apart.”

 

 To Stiles’s horror, Gerard smiled widely, all teeth showing with shark-like menace. “Oh no, Peter escaped all by himself this time, killed two of my men who were on watch outside the care facility. This far into his rehabilitation we really didn’t expect a rebellion. He’ll be punished for running later, of course, but while he’s here he may as well make himself useful.”

 

 At last the final flare was fading again and slowly the beast, Peter, was unwinding from his near-foetal curl. “An old man can admit his mistakes, I became complacent. I won’t make that mistake again. He’s a feral beast, but even a feral beast can be indefinitely controlled by a diligent handler.” Gerard punctuated his words by jerking his arm up in some sort of signal.

 

 A bolt flew from the crossbow of the man next to him, piercing Peter’s deformed shoulder. As it made contact, electricity exploded from the shaft and sent Peter writhing onto his back like a dying beetle, howling in pain. Laura shot forward but before she could reach him, another bolt flew and struck Peter’s thigh, then another in his neck.

 

 Laura skidded to his side, grasping the bolt jutting from his shoulder. She visibly clenched her fangs as the electricity vibrated through her arm, shaking her body with it. A piercing roar that made the very ground beneath their feet tremble rushed from her and Stiles found himself reaching out, knotting his fingers in Derek’s jacket, not knowing what else to do. He was frozen at the sight of Laura’s burning red eyes as she pulled the bolt from Peter’s shoulder, then the others in quick succession.

 

 Peter’s body slumped, chest rising and falling rapidly, his grotesque, animal-like face shuttered with pain as he lay otherwise limp in the dirt. Laura rose, eyes blazing. She turned to face Gerard with dangerous slowness, shrugging off Stiles’s grey jacket as her limbs tightened, twitched as if readying for the change. She tossed the still sparking bolts to Gerard’s feet. The hunters took a hesitant step back, all except for Gerard who smiled benignly at her.

 

 “It takes more than that to take down an alpha,” she growled darkly.

 

 Gerard raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I’m aware of exactly how much _fire_ power it takes to take down an alpha.” He flicked his eyes pointedly up to the dark, charcoal shell of the Hale house.

 

 Derek started forward. Stiles gripped his arm frantically, his vulnerable presence and Derek’s desire to protect him doing more to restrain him than any strength in Stiles’s arms. But his control was slipping as his anger surged. At the same time, Laura let her body arc forward, following the movement of her change as it brought her onto all-fours, a large brown wolf with fangs bared.

 

 To their credit, the hunters stood their ground but Gerard…

 

 Stiles felt all the moisture dry from his mouth at the foreboding, smug look that remained unwavering on the old man’s face.

 

 “A dog is a dog when you find the right collar, or the right stick,” Gerard said lightly, holstering the flare gun and drawing a long thin stick from his jacket pocket. He tipped it sideways, toward one of the hunters, who, without dropping the aim of his crossbow, pulled out a lighter. The stick was a sparkler.

 

 A sparkler.

 

 Stiles felt blood pound in his ears. His voice screamed inside his head, momentarily trapped by his panic in the few seconds it took for the first few flickers to spit from the newly ignited sparkler. All he had time to think was _oh my God, the cue._ The one Peter was taught to respond to, or else expect pain.

 

 He gripped Derek’s arm painfully tight, nails digging into the leather and a panicked, incomprehensible noise of warning spilled over his lips, deafening in the silence of the clearing.

 

 Gerard raised the sparkler high as the sparks crackled in vicious beauty in the dimness. Peter, strength renewed by fear, by the respite, by his twisted conditioning, rolled to his feet.

 

 Stiles watched, helpless as Laura turned at the sound of movement, as Derek darted forward out of his grasp, too late. Peter was a deranged werewolf trained to kill on sight, to kill anything that was a _‘threat’_ at the promise of more pain. At the promise of fire. He lunged for Laura, fangs bared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for brief discussions of depression, very brief mentions of a past unsuccessful suicide attempt and of past alcoholism/alcohol as a coping mechanism.
> 
>  
> 
> P.S. Sorry for the cliffhanger :( The chapter just got too long and I had to cut it somewhere.


	6. Man or Beast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're coming to the end now so if there's anything you'd like to see in the concluding chapters please don't be afraid to let me know :)
> 
> _A journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step—_ Lao-Tzu.

**Chapter Six**

**_Man or Beast_ **

 

 

 

 A howl of agony tore through the night as Peter’s fangs ripped into Laura’s side. She threw herself back, twisting her large body and snapping her own jaws, narrowly missing Peter as he danced out of her reach, body hunched over at an unnatural angle so he was on all-fours. Derek made a beeline towards them, flying across the ground. But when one of the hunters let fly a bolt, he skidded to a halt, dirt flying as he twisted back to avoid the missile. It struck in the strut supporting the stairs up to the porch right next to Stiles.

 

 “Stiles, down!” Derek called back, rolling sideways to avoid the next shot. Stiles watched him roll up onto his toes and fingertips, for the first time ever really witnessing Derek’s power, his speed. He watched Laura collide hard with Peter, sending him sprawling across the ground, eyes blazing red and fur bristled along her back, making her look almost as deranged as Peter. That the hunters did not seem afraid of the sight of them made Stiles’s stomach sweep. _He_ was even a little bit afraid.

 

 “Take Derek alive, if you can,” Gerard said almost dismissively, stepping forward, to where Peter had risen shakily. Laura snapped her jaws in warning but Peter’s body stood between her and the old man. Gerard gave his usual wide, shark-like smile and tossed what remained of the sparkler onto Peter’s back.

 

 He howled. Panic swallowed him whole. He jerked to his feet, scrabbling at his back with grotesque, monstrous arms, claws raking through his already blood-mottled fur and dragging out fresh lines of crimson. He snarled wildly, jerking around, before a fine, sharp focus seemed to snap into place. He lunged for Laura again, as if the pain, the sparks of the fire had spoken regimented orders that only he could hear.

 

 Laura whined imploringly, a beseeching sound of hurt longing that Peter was deaf to. He slammed into her and they rolled backwards, a blur of fur and fang to Stiles’s eyes. He staggered as their brawl raged across the ground toward him, diving sideways just in time for them to crash into the porch steps. Wood splintered and burst outward like an explosion. Their bodies locked together and tore through the dilapidated wood until it collapsed under the force.

 

 Stiles’s head jerked up as the already derelict building groaned warningly. The front of the house quivered at the damage the two wolves had unwittingly created. He saw Laura roll onto her back, massive paws scrambling at Peter as he dove for her throat, her shoulder, her muzzle, anything he could reach. She was holding him at bay but only just. She was trying to subdue him somehow without hurting him, Stiles realised, just as a piercing cry came from behind him. He whipped his head round to see Derek rearing back, his arm scrabbling ineffectually at his shoulder, a long bolt sticking out of his upper back.

 

 A sound of distress lodged in Stiles’s throat, caught midway as a roar from nearby dragged his gaze back to where Peter had sunk his fangs into Laura’s shoulder. She kicked him back with her hind legs, sending him reeling into the air, crashing into the house. It groaned in protest, a creaking, whining wail without end. It was as if the darkness that had been trapped there since the fire had finally erupted from the shattered structure like water from a dam.

 

 One side of the house had been almost entirely obliterated beforehand, but it seemed the damage to the porch and where Peter had torn through the walls _twice_ that night, including just now, had been it. The whole front of the house cried out and cracked, spilling forward, wood splintering and shattering, roof tiles crumbling. Stiles watched, frozen with horror as the whole lot crashed toward him. He was too close, sprawled on the ground where he’d dodged Peter and Laura beforehand. He scrabbled on his back a few paces but it was all rushing down in slow motion like an avalanche.

 

 A growling cry rang through the clearing, piercing the sounds of the falling house in the split-second it took Stiles to squint his eyes shut and cover his face with his arms. “Derek!” Stiles shouted back, throat raw and breaking on the desperation in the sound.

 

 Any reply he was offered was drowned out by the deafening noise of the house crashing to the ground around him. The ground shook with the force of it, he choked on the dust and ash and dirt that erupted from the earth, every muscle in his body tensing as he heaved and coughed. It was only when a stray scrap of wood bounced beside his head and flew across his arm, slicing through his sleeve and forearm in a shallow but stinging pass that he realised, the falling fragments of house hadn’t crushed him.

 

 Throwing his arms back he squinted up through the haze of dust floating in the air around them. Derek was standing over him, curved forward, body tense and face contorted with pain. He exhaled through clenched teeth, staring down at Stiles for a second as if not truly seeing him. The bolt in his shoulder was broken off jaggedly but Stiles saw it as Derek staggered, dropped over him with his chest heaving from exertion. His face was human again except for the glowing gold eyes, as if the effort had shaken his transformation from him.

 

 Debris spilled off of him and Stiles took him in with wild eyes as he realised Derek had stood over him and protected him while an entire _house_ fell down on him. The lower sections of the walls on the far side and the chimney stack was all that was left standing, making the clearing feel unnaturally large, exposing, dangerously vulnerable.

 

 Stiles’s own breathing was coming hard and fast now, he reached up but Derek’s hands shot out with alarming speed, clumsy and ravenous, stunning Stiles into stillness as they cupped his face, hard enough to bruise. Derek searched him with shining eyes, face morphed with distress, brows pinched, lip bloody, his own face and hair covered with dirt but still, only seeing Stiles.

 

 “Okay?” Derek panted, voice rough, “You’re okay?”

 

 Stiles just stared at him, still struck mute at the display of strength, at the astounding sight of a man who had just had the best part of a house crash down on him without so much as being brought to his knees. His heart pounded, he felt sweaty and his head, shoulder and back were throbbing but all he could think of was how he could ever have felt even a frisson of fear? All he could think was that this man, who could withstand that blow and still had a bolt lodged in his shoulder knelt over him, exposed, vulnerable to him. He was lost only in Stiles as if they weren’t surrounded by the remains of his family home in the middle of a battlefield.

 

 All he could think was that it was glaringly obvious that Derek loved him. He swallowed.

 

 Maybe he was in a bit of shock too.

 

 “Stiles?” Derek asked, tapping his face and dipping his head closer, letting his gold eyes revert to their multi-hued green as if he were worried any lingering reminder of his werewolf appearance had sent Stiles into shock.

 

 “Fine,” Stiles managed roughly, coughing at the lingering dust. “M’fine.” His hands gripped Derek’s shoulders and he frowned when he saw the wince in Derek’s face, even though Derek didn’t move away. Stiles loosened his hold on him. “Shit, the bolt.” He released Derek, hand hovering over his chest. “How can I…?”

 

 Derek winced, coughing too. He seemed to hesitate, then glanced up at something over his shoulder. The cloud was slowly settling but Stiles couldn’t see through it. Derek apparently could and Stiles didn’t need him to speak to know the hunters were approaching, slowly, cautiously, but still too fast. There were noises from the wreckage of the house too, both Laura and Peter apparently recovering quickly.

 

 Derek planted his hands in the earth either side of Stiles, apparently regaining his sense of urgency and awareness with Stiles’s well-being confirmed. “Out. Pull it out,” Derek grunted, setting his jaw.

 

 Stiles hesitated, his hands hovering. He had told Derek he was bad with blood, right? He’d spent plenty of time in hospital in his time and he ate up zombie movies like any nineteen-year-old, but real life blood and screaming and…

 

 “ _Now_ , Stiles,” Derek snapped.

 

 Stiles moved before he let his brain catch up, on instinct at the urgency in Derek’s words. He reached around, took hold of the bolt and pulled. Derek roared, fangs bared in an open-mouthed scream of pain, deafening and right in Stiles’s face. Stiles flinched at the initial sound but it was a tribute to the trust he felt that all he did at the sight of those renewed gold eyes and glaring fangs, was to drop the bloodied bolt and grasp Derek’s neck. He unwittingly smeared the blood over Derek’s jaw as he floundered, clumsy with the need to console him and nothing else.

 

 “Jesus, Derek–”

 

 “S’okay,” Derek gritted out, even though the earth shifted with the force of his claws curling there, at outlet for the pain riding him. “No wolfsbane. Will heal.”

 

 Stiles heard footsteps on the debris-scattered ground, heard a howl and squeezed Derek’s jaw tighter in reflex. “Can you sense my dad?” Stiles asked, breathless and shaken.

 

 Suddenly, a snarl with the ferocity of lightning ripping through the air and Stiles caught a flash of dark grey and cried, “watch out!”

 

 Peter dove for them, his twisted arms with dirt and blood encrusted talons poised. Stiles ducked and Derek braced himself over him. At the last second, Laura leapt over them, slamming into Peter and sending them both crashing, tumbling in a knot of writhing limbs. Stiles craned his neck, squirming in the dirt to see where the danger had landed. Laura had Peter pinned with both paws, but the unnatural shape of him let his muzzle stretch up, let him sink his fangs into her throat and she howled.

 

 At that moment, Derek pushed up onto the balls of his feet, poised between Stiles’s awkwardly splayed legs and hesitating. It was only a fleeting moment, just a second where Stiles could see him realise that if he flew to his sister’s aid the hunters would spring, not only on him but potentially Stiles as well.

 

 Stiles pushed up onto his hands, adrenaline or whatever it was sending clumsy strength pounding through him despite how his body protested. Before he could even finish twisting his head back round to look fully at Derek, a sharp, high whistling sound rushed passed him and Derek’s body jerked back and up.

 

 Two stunners stuck out of both of Derek’s sides, the cables sparking with electric current that had Derek’s limbs seizing up, shuddering, teeth exposed and eyes flashing. Derek caught hold of them with shaking hands, the sheer force of the current making each movement jerky and erratic. An anguished sound was trapped inside his clenched jaw.

 

 “Derek!” Stiles gasped, reaching for the wires. Derek, unable to do anything else, snarled brokenly in negation, warning him back from touching them, from coming into contact with the current that was clearly too much for a werewolf, much less a human.

 

 Helplessness burned in Stiles’s eyes as he watched Derek try to pull them loose, hampered by the spasms coursing through him. He scrambled to his feet at another warning grunt of a snarl from Derek. His legs were like spaghetti under him as he stumbled back. Derek let out another fanged grunt of exertion, jerking at the sparking wires until the two hunters attached to the tasers at either end were pulled forward to the ground. The motion dragged one of the hooks free and Derek rounded on the man at the end of the one still attached. He dragged himself forward on still shaking clawed hands until he could hook them into the hunter’s shoulders.

 

 The downed hunter screamed as wolf claws sank into his flesh, crushing him to the debris-strewn earth. Stiles watched, eyes wide as Derek wrenched bloodied fingers free from one of the man’s shoulders and brought them down, swiping cleanly across his throat. He jerked at the sight of the spray of blood, at the way the hunter’s body jerked with his last quiver of life. The battle behind him between Laura and Peter raged somewhere at the back of his awareness, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the place a man was taking his last, choking breath.

 

 He knew sometimes bad people were killed to prevent them from doing bad things. His dad carried a gun for a reason and Stiles knew that he’d used it many times, probably would again. He’d even been prepared for the day when he would be a cop once, when he might have to kill someone to save someone else. But knowing it, thinking it was different than seeing it. He’d only ever seen death once before with his own eyes.

 

 The horror surged into blinding, unavoidable vividness, everything happening almost too fast to process all at once. Derek hadn’t even lowered his arm, still dripping in blood, when another electrically charged wire sank into his neck. With a twisted, teeth-clenched scream he jerked sideways, the second hunter dropping the taser and aiming the crossbow hanging from his other hand back at the downed werewolf.

 

 At the same moment that Derek hit the earth, an arm locked around Stiles’s neck, hauling him backward. His eyes squinted shut in white-hot agony as the third hunter whose forearm was locked around his throat, twisted his bad arm up behind his back, with such force that he swore he felt the already abused tendons in his shoulder snap. He screamed.

 

 “You put your safety in the hands of these…abominations,” Gerard said lightly, coming to stand in the few feet of space between the hunter who had hold of Stiles and the one who now stood over Derek with a crossbow aimed at his face. “But you have to remember what they are, Stiles. They’re freaks of nature, animals you can’t place your trust in.” He raised the shotgun and in a terrifying act of de ja vu, aimed it at Stiles’s forehead. “Their durability only makes them more careless with human life, even those they profess devotion to.” He glanced pointedly to the downed Hale House and Derek snarled warningly but did not dare move.

 

 Gerard gestured with his chin then and the man holding Stiles’s captive twisted his abused arm enough to make Stiles’s eyes water as he was manhandled to his knees. He glared up at Gerard through tears of pain even though fear burned like ice through his stomach, spiking just under his ribcage until panic pattered there with near suffocating pressure. He didn’t feel any safer when Gerard lowered the shotgun.

 

 “His life is in your hands, Derek,” Gerard said casually, “your sister’s fate is sealed but you can save Stiles.”

 

 The hunter holding Stiles drew a handgun from a holster hidden underneath his jacket and pressed it to Stiles’s temple.

 

 “Roll over like a good dog, Derek, and Master will release your little toy.”

 

 Stiles clenched his teeth and watched as Derek did the same, tensing. The taser had apparently been tugged free and the last of the aftershocks had died away enough for Derek to shift up onto his side, hands planted on the ground. The crossbow aimed at his head did not allow him to rise any further but it was almost part of the torture, the mind games that they allowed them to look at each other, to see each other so helpless.

 

 “He’s going to kill me anyway, Derek!” Stiles said.

 

 Gerard smacked his fist into the side of Stiles’s face. Pain bloomed over his cheekbone, shot up his neck as his head twisted to the side, blood bursting from his lip where it had caught between his teeth. Stiles choked on the pain, too shocked to make a noise. He squinted his eyes shut so he wouldn’t have to look at Derek.

 

 “Don’t make me remind you of your humanity, Stiles,” Gerard said darkly. “Come on, Derek. Right here at your boy’s feet so he can see just who has the power here, man or beast.”

 

 For a moment, Stiles became all-too aware of the yelping wolf cry, more distant than he’d thought. Any evidence of Peter or Laura echoed somewhere behind them. A loud _thump_ jerked his eyes open and he felt the man holding him twitch too. A tree had been caught in the skirmish, crashed to the ground just to their right, just short of what was left of the house. Then movement drew his eyes unwittingly forward and he found his gaze locking with impossibly green eyes. Derek had been kicked onto the ground before him, almost prostrate and Stiles jerked against the hold on him at the sight.

 

 Derek, who flushed with mortification and anger just when he struggled to get a word out correctly, he was a proud man. He turned his face away from Stiles, focussing on the ground his hands were splayed out on as if to look at him then hurt more than the electricity.

 

  _No,_ Stiles’s mind breathed, words stuck somewhere in his throat. _No. NO._

“Roll over, boy,” Gerard chuckled darkly, then added, “make sure Stiles watches.”

 

 The third hunter restraining Stiles wedged the flat upperside of the gun barrel under his chin to keep his head in position. Derek’s gaze twitched to his surreptitiously and Stiles knew they were thinking the same thing. Derek lowered himself to the ground, hesitated under the guise of shame and then lunged. His hand locked around Stiles’s calf at the exact moment he sank his fangs into the hunter’s ankle, boot and all. The man released Stiles and his gun with a scream. Stiles went down, winded by the pain spreading through him like a wildfire and twisted out of the way just in time to avoid being trampled as the hunter who’d been holding him lashed out with his free foot.

 

 The second hunter had raised his crossbow, Gerard had cocked the shotgun and Stiles swallowed hard, gasping for air as his hand scrambled in the dirt for the fallen handgun. He pushed up onto his ass and lifted it without a second thought.

 

 “Drop them!” Stiles cried out, breathless and shaking, his shoulder and arm throbbing along with everything else. Gerard and the hunter not at Derek’s mercy froze but didn’t comply. Stiles steadied his breath as best he could. “I said drop them.” The safety flicked off with a satisfying click.

 

 “I don’t think you mean it, Stiles,” Gerard said lightly. “Put it down before you hurt yourself, boy.”

 

 “The fucking _Sheriff’s_ boy, remember? You think I don’t know how this thing works? Drop. Them.”

 

 The unfettered hunter stared at him, brain visibly working but in the end he tossed his crossbow to the ground. It landed with a thud and without asking, without tearing his eyes away from Stiles, he kicked it away from them. Not an idiot, then. Gerard apparently was. He lifted the shotgun but before Stiles could even squeeze the trigger, Derek had wrenched to the side and pushed up. The shotgun fired at the same moment as Derek sent the man staggering into its path.

 

 Blood splattered Stiles’s face and he jerked, the bullet from his own gun piercing Gerard’s forearm and forcing him to drop the shotgun even as it rebounded from the shot that had killed his own hunter.

 

 Whether he was reacting to the sound of the gunshots, Gerard’s bellowed cursing or just the way the battle had played with Laura, the next thing Stiles knew, Peter had barrelled back into view, Laura hot behind him.

 

 Gerard sneered, gripping his bloodied arm. “KILL THEM!” he roared at Peter. “Kill the alpha, kill the beta. Kill the human. All of them. Now.” He reached for his flare gun even as he spoke and Peter sensed this, apparently, focus narrowing in on where Derek and Stiles lay.

 

 Laura, bloodied and tiring from taking hit after hit without retaliation, skidded into Peter’s path. She shed her wolf skin in a bone twisting, horrendous display of cracking joints and cartilage, catching herself on her fingertips, hair flying wildly about her bare shoulders. She knelt in Peter’s path and he was coming, he was a slathering, mindless beast and Stiles felt Derek tense, poised to do something, _anything_ when she unleashed a roar that seemed to halt the very air with its commanding force.

 

 “Peter, _stop_!” The words were twisted into the tail-end of the snarl, making the wooden splinters of the house tremble where they lay on the ground and all the hairs on Stiles’s body prickled.

 

 Peter skidded to a halt and just stood there, half hunched in his unnatural all-fours position, utterly frozen. Laura was breathing harshly, something in her eyes, in her composure keeping Peter still as stone as she slowly stood upright. Stiles and Derek watched as she lifted a hand, slow and steady, shaking only a little, palm out, fingers splayed in a staying motion. Peter’s eyes, piercing ice blue followed the movement as if hypnotised. His jaw hung open a fraction and a low, rumbling growl emanated from Laura, resonating with an intensity that even Stiles could feel on the air.

 

 There was a long moment of nothingness, just the echoes of that sound and then Peter lowered himself slowly into an awkward looking seated position. Every elongated limb seemed to go lax, his large back slumping, ears slicking back as Laura extended her hand.

 

 Stiles felt his breath catch in his throat as he observed it all from what felt like a much greater distance than fifty feet. It was like watching something from another world, Laura, illuminated by the moon, visibly calming a slavering beast. He felt more than saw Derek tense as she let her hand rest against Peter’s head, just on the mangled fur between his ears. Peter’s bright blue eyes closed and when they opened, they were normal again, almost human. The mangled creature shuddered, shrinking, contorting back into something smaller, smoother.

 

 When Laura’s fingers slid over a smooth forehead and back into messy, dirty, _human_ looking hair and the man beneath it tilted his head into it, the remaining hunter seemed to panic. He scrambled for his fallen crossbow, a high-pitched, panicked gasp leaving him as he lifted it and turned. He never had the chance to take aim.

 

 Peter’s head shot up the second his fingers clasp the crossbow, sculpted human lips, pasted with drying blood drawing back with a snarl too feral to be human. He dodged a shocked Laura quicker than she could react, taking advantage of her momentary relief to fly at the newly armed hunter. It was almost like he was faster on his human legs. He was on the hunter before Stiles could blink and snatching the fired bolt out of the air.

 

 Peter turned the bolt slowly between his fingers like a baton, a delicate instrument. He tilted his head, studying the way the moonlight danced along the shaft before inclining it toward the hunter with an expression of pensiveness. The hunter quivered where he stood, frozen to the spot as Peter had been a moment ago, but this time with fear.

 

 Stiles watched as a slow smile spread across Peter’s face, with the same perfect teeth Laura had and yet with a coldness that neither she nor Derek possessed. He twirled the bolt once more between dextrous fingers, before stabbing the head right through the hunter’s neck. The man choked, grasped uselessly at his throat as Peter stepped back, looking at his hand as if in mock surprise at his own action.

 

 “Oops,” Peter intoned, his voice light and airy, a little grated with misuse.

 

 “How dare you?” Gerard growled as his last hunter fell to the floor, choking on his last breath.

 

 Peter turned to face him with an air of a man that had all the time in the world.

 

 “I _made_ you what you are,” Gerard seethed, letting his wounded arm hang, blood welling visibly through his sleeve even in the moonlight. He reached for the flare gun holstered at his hip but as he drew it Laura caught his wrist, her face set in a hard line. She squeezed with such force that Stiles swore even _he_ could hear the bones grinding together. The gun dropped. Laura shoved Gerard back and watched with detached focus, along with Derek and Stiles as Peter moved to stand over him.

 

 “I can’t argue with that,” Peter said in reply to Gerard’s words. He looked at the flare gun with distaste, but a frisson of unease visibly rippled through him.

 

 Stiles couldn’t help but think that where Derek had been locked in his wolf’s shape for years, had lost a great deal of his communication skills because of that, Peter hadn’t. Which could only mean that Peter’s mind, his human mind had been present and correct all these years, aware of every torture, every second. He swallowed, feeling sick to his stomach at the thought of it, at the sadness in that but also unnerved. He felt like he was missing something, something important. He felt like he was running out of time to figure it out.

 

 “You are a tool to avenge my daughter. I am the master here!” Gerard cried, voice breaking, rising with desperation on the last word as he shifted uselessly backward, one arm bleeding from the gunshot wound and the other impeded by Laura’s crushing grip on his wrist. He scrambled backward more urgently with every second, for the first time fear reaching his eyes.

 

 Stiles wondered what kind of person it made him that he felt satisfaction in that. This man killed an entire family, tortured Peter for years and who knew what else. He was a monster, more than even the creature he had turned into.

 

 “ _Master,_ ” Peter retorted derisively, “I thought you knew better than to place your trust in feral dogs. We can be _so_ unpredictable, after all.” He gave Gerard a wicked smile then, his face nearly breaking with it. “But you forget, we aren’t dogs, we’re not even _wolves_ , we’re something infinitely more dangerous.” He stepped toward Gerard with the air of a serial killer, not a feral beast now. “We’re werewolves, and werewolves don’t have _masters_. We only have alphas.”

 

 Peter seemed all too coherent suddenly, all too sane for a man who had endured what he had. As if all this time something had held him to one goal, focus.

 

 Exactly as that thought processed in his brain, Peter’s entire body seemed to seize up with rage, fangs bared, claws diving down and sinking into Gerard’s neck, dashing his head clean off his shoulders. Stiles flinched as it tumbled to the earth and he felt Derek jerk beside him, the sheer violence of it a shock to both them and Laura, it seemed, even given everything that had happened that night.

 

 A pained sound came from just across from them and Stiles saw the hunter with the bolt in his neck grasping his fallen crossbow, blindly aiming it for Laura in his last moments. She was standing right next to him, perilously close but so focussed on the gore dripping from Peter’s fingers and Gerard’s decapitated body laying prone in the grass.

 

 “Laura!” Derek cried, surging forward but halting mid-step as Peter stepped between Laura and the bolt. It struck him in the shoulder but he barely twitched. His body jerked feebly with the movement as if he registered the pressure of the impact but not the pain. His head turned slowly and he clucked his tongue as if it were no more than a bother, wrenching it from his flesh awkwardly and turning to glance at the fallen hunter. But he had already breathed his last.

 

 An eerie stillness fell over the clearing, a haunting silence broken only by the sudden sharp wind. Stiles couldn’t tear his eyes away from the most recently deceased hunter, wondering what on earth could have inspired them to such evil, to such measures. They’d called the Hales abominations, _animals_ but who could even go to such lengths to inflict cruelty on animals? On any life? His brow furrowed, the stress of the evening finally catching up to him and leaving him feeling frozen in the aftermath, literally shivering and shaken from the ferocity of the violence he’d been privy to. His body was hurting more and more each minute.

 

 Where was his dad?

 

 After what seemed like a long time, Peter spoke, his voice low and soft, a little like Derek’s in tone but an octave higher. “All that time I was at their mercy and you never knew,” he said slowly. “I was alone and helpless.”

 

 Laura exhaled around a strangled sob. “Peter,” she choked, “I know. I’m…I’m so sorry. I thought you were safe. I brought us back here because I thought we’d be safest…”

 

 Peter turned slowly to her, his eyes searching her face. “I’ll never be helpless again.”

 

 Stiles jerked at the calmly spoken words that just sounded wrong, even from a stranger’s lips. It all clicked into place and he scrambled forward on limbs weighed down by weariness, his movements too slow like in a bad dream. “Laura!” He cried. He could almost see what was about to happen but he couldn’t stop it. “He wasn’t protecting you, he’s–” His words cut off, wrenched out of coherency and into an agonised scream as Peter’s claws rented his side. Blood burst out of him like a ruptured pipe.

 

 “I need it,” Peter breathed, growled, gasped, “ _I need it._ ”

 

 Derek slammed into Peter, sending them both sprawling away from where Stiles lay, reaching for his wounded side with shaking hands. He cried out as he put pressure on the wound on instinct, his vision hazy as he looked up to see Peter skidding backward on his knees, Derek between him and Stiles. But Peter jerked his head in Laura’s direction.

 

 “I _need_ it,” he gasped out, sounding every bit deranged now. His eyes glowed a dangerous blue, the same from the darkness of Stiles’s window that he’d thought were only in his nightmares. He stalked toward Laura like the twisted parody of the wolf he’d appeared to be a moment ago, only wearing human skin now. When Derek dove for him his head snapped to the side, as if he hadn’t registered his presence until then and downed Derek with a palm flat to his chest.

 

 Derek let out a choked sound as claws sank into his chest, the full force of Peter’s strength, his weight crushing down on his ribcage and pinning him to the ground like a bug under glass. Derek snarled, legs kicking out and his own fingers locking around Peter’s wrist to dislodge him. “Pe… _ter_ ,” Derek choked. “S’Derek. _Stop_. Over. It over.”

 

 Stiles choked back a noise of pain as he struggled up to his knees, halting there when his vision span worryingly. He didn’t know what he could do but knowing he had to do something. Derek and Laura they were caught in an impasse, not wanting to hurt Peter but not able to stop him from hurting them.

 

 Peter’s unhinged expression was highlighted by the moon, face taut with fear and the ghost of years of pain, desperation. His arms, his claws were shaking where they were buried in Derek’s chest. “I need it,” he gasped out, fangs extending in his mouth as he twisted his claws deeper, wrenching a spluttered noise of shocked anguish from Derek’s lips, where blood splurged. “I _need it_.”

 

 “Peter!” Laura cried, darting to his side. “ _Stop_!” Her voice reverberated with that insistent, ethereal roar again, commanding. The alpha insisted on cooperation from its pack mate. Peter twitched, shuddered harder. His claws flexed roughly in Derek’s ribcage. Derek jerked as if electrified but Peter did not otherwise respond to his alpha, to his niece.

 

 Laura winced as she seized Peter by the throat, jerking him back enough to dislodge his claws from Derek’s flesh with a sickening sound. “He’s your nephew!” she near sobbed now, no trace of the wolf there, just the human, just the young woman who had only seen her uncle lifeless in a chair for years. He was one of the last shreds of her family, the last parental figure she had left and he was failing before her eyes, growing more and more like the beast he’d been a second ago.

 

 His eyes snapped to her face and he roared like an enraged lion, taking advantage of her proximity, her emotional weakness to twist his head and sink his fangs into the bicep of the arm holding him. Laura screamed, flinching back. Derek rose brokenly to her aid regardless but Peter was moving faster, hyped up on his fear, on his desperation. His already bloodied claws hooked into Derek’s stomach this time and Stiles screamed as they pierced straight through, lifting Derek clean off his feet with the motion.

 

 “I need it!” Peter growled again, throwing Derek’s body, limp with shock into the ruins of the house. Stiles watched helpless and dizzy with horror as Derek collided with the remaining wall and did not rise again from the wreckage.

 

 “No!” Stiles gasped, his voice almost lost to the animalistic cries of Laura and Peter clashing. He tried to push to his feet but he felt paralysed with it all. He could still feel blood welling from the burning, stinging would in his side. Sharp, spiking pain pulsed through his chest as his breaths became shorter and shorter. He stared between the place he’d seen Derek vanish in the wreckage and where Laura was trying to pin Peter to the ground by his arms.

 

 “You’re safe! Stop it! Peter, don’t make me, _please_!” She sounded as helpless as Stiles felt, in spite of all her power. Her hesitation had caused Peter pain, had cost her brother his life and now she was forced to kill Peter too, or…

 

 “I NEED IT!” Peter screamed, throat raw. “Never…Never again. I have to be the alpha!” With every remaining ounce of strength in his body, Peter reared up against Laura’s hold, not enough to get free but enough for the flash of his fangs to go for the vulnerable underside of her throat.

 

 Stiles couldn’t breathe but he couldn’t stop either. He moved on instinct, spying the fallen handgun nearby and firing. It missed but the loud clap made the two wolves spring apart. Stiles could barely see for the fogginess of the lack of oxygen, the pounding in his head and lungs but he fired again. Again. He just caught sight of Peter rolling forward like an animal in the dirt, thundering toward him on all fours and he squeezed his eyes shut as he fired the last round.

 

 Peter roared as it bolted straight through his stomach but he didn’t stop. He was beyond pain, beyond reason. He was back in that dark place that he’d been temporarily freed from earlier, in that place he’d been trapped in for years and there was no stopping him. Stiles threw the now empty gun at his face and scrambled back. Laura slammed into Peter’s back, arms wrapping around him, pinning his arms to his side but though she was strong, he was bulkier. She couldn’t weigh him down enough, couldn’t impede his forward motion, his blind need to eradicate all threat. His fangs were there, right there and Stiles couldn’t move back fast enough.

 

 “Stiles! Get away!” Laura grunted out against Peter’s back but there was nothing either of them could do to stop it.

 

 Peter writhed, throwing himself sideways so the full weight of him crushed Laura to the earth. She sank her claws in, refusing to let go as he tried to shake her off.

 

 “I’m sorry!” She sobbed, gasped beneath the weight of him, her claws wrapping around his throat. Defeat was thick in her voice as it finally struck her that there was only one way she could end this. “Peter, I’m so…”

 

 Her hesitation was enough; Peter threw his head back, the force of his skull crashing into her face, making blood explode from her cracked nose. The shock of it caused his release and Peter’s claws, the ones that had ripped into Derek rose again. Stiles reached around frantically for something, anything to use as a weapon, to throw, to help. His fingers closed around a jut of boarding from the front of the house but he couldn’t breathe, he was losing it, he was…

 

 A howl broke the night, jagged and piercing, tearing off into a warning growl and Stiles thought he’d finally lost it. He felt delirious. His head was pounding loudly with his own laboured, short, ineffective breaths. A wolf was stalking forward, not quite as big as Laura and with fur so dark it made it look like a dark shadow in the darkness. His eyes though, they glowed golden yellow. It stalked closer, head lowered, ears slicked back with menace.

 

 It was a warning Peter didn’t process. He just saw another threat, another target. He barely moved, did nothing except perhaps twitch his body with more focus toward the intruding wolf but that seemed enough. The black wolf lunged. His huge body dwarfed Peter’s human one without any of the care for hurting him that Laura had shown, throwing him brutally to the earth. Blood bubbled out of Peter’s lips.

 

 It felt like an electric kick to Stiles’s heart, to his lungs that had been failing him. It seemed like everything raging in his head like a thunderstorm calmed as the black wolf tilted his head in his direction. For a second, the blazing gold eyes flickered to a more natural shade. The colour was inscrutable in the darkness, but Stiles knew. He felt his body shift forward, the hand not clutching his wounded side splaying on the ground to steady him in an aborted effort to reach for him.

 

 “Derek,” he whispered to the cool dark.

 

 The wolf let out a reassuring grumble, just as Peter staggered upward.

 

 “Stiles!” Laura cried out as she darted to her brother’s side. “The gun! Gerard’s gun! I’m sure it has wolfsbane bullets.”

 

 Gerard had wanted them alive, apart from Laura, but he’d want to ensure his own life above all others. Stiles knew what wolfsbane bullets were, how they could be used. He knew what Laura wanted him to do, why she didn’t want to use her claws.

 

 He grit his teeth, his world still hazy around the edges but his breathing levelling as it found focus, purpose. Whether it was Laura’s ‘voice’ or his survival instincts finding their second wind, he found the ability to move. Clumsily he scrambled over to Gerard’s body, trying hard not to look at the bloodied torn flesh of where his head used to be.

 

 He swallowed heavily, hands shaking when he couldn’t avoid it. He felt a sickness pool in his belly. _Move, damn it, move_ , he spat at himself. _Do something!_

 

 Animalistic noises pierced the air once more and Stiles glanced up to see the shape of Laura’s familiar dark brown wolf beside the black. Peter was between them, poised with his claws extended, ready to take them all. It was like watching a cornered tiger readying to strike at its hunters closing in. It would fight with its dying breath. Peter saw Laura’s alpha strength as the only way out. He was blind to reason, to everything else. Gerard had done that, had twisted the knife in what remained of Derek and Laura’s family…

 

  _Fucking_ move _damn it!_

 

 His stomach lurched warningly at the sight of the blood staining the ground below. He felt as if time were slipping through his fingers like water and yet he couldn’t shift the shock that was settling into his bones.

 

 A savage roar, a beast’s last desperate cry ripped through the air and Peter dove for Laura. She dipped her head, teeth bared but as Peter swung for her side and she twisted her neck to catch him, he shoved up, straight over onto her back where he sank his fangs into her upper hind leg. They had numbers on him and Laura was stronger, but only just with her pack weakened, divided and Peter…he was unpredictable in his insanity.

 

 He attacked at angles, rabid and unstoppable even when Derek’s massive paw swiped across his chest and tore bloody ribbons across his flesh. He sank his claws into Derek’s throat, hooking both hands into his neck, his body dragged upward as Derek reared back in pain. When he dropped, he snapped his fangs around Derek’s foreleg.

 

 At that moment, Laura turned to look directly at Stiles, her eyes piercing through the shock holding him captive. She roared, an urgent, imploring sound that Stiles swore he could hear his name inside. His limbs jerked into movement as if revived by a defibrillator. The shotgun lay close by and Stiles snatched it up, like all of a sudden now he was moving, it was in fast-forward.

 

 The wretched thing felt wrong in his hands as he checked it. One shot left. He turned the double barrel on Peter as Derek shook him off at last and stumbled back, favouring his bloody leg. Peter rolled with the blow, skidding onto all fours, ash and debris spraying into the air – into Laura’s eyes right as she dove for him. A strangled cry of stunned pain sounded, Laura’s head flying back as she tossed her head, pawing at her eyes trying to clear them.

 

 Stiles turned his sight down the barrel and cocked the hammer. The sharp click drew Peter’s eyes his way. He lunged a split second before Derek’s fangs closed around the space his neck had been and before Stiles could even squeeze the trigger, he was pinned to the ground by the barrel of the gun across his throat.

 

 Peter looked wild above him, pressing down and choking the breath from Stiles’s lungs. The pressure on his neck was too much, he wondered if his head would even stay on long enough for him to suffocate. He felt his eyes bulging, felt his arms strain against the unconquerable strength of the werewolf above him. He just made out Derek then, human again with his arms hooked under Peter’s shoulders, hauling him back, trying to, at least.

 

 Peter writhed, bearing down harder in retaliation, the scent of the wolfsbane in the barrel apparently only increasing his urgency. Then, suddenly, a shot rang through the night. Everything froze. Stiles’s strained, watering eyes watched as Peter went rigid, staring down at Stiles, then the bloody wound right in the centre of his chest where the bullet had gone in. His eyes rolled back and he fell limp in Derek’s arms.

 

 Stiles threw the shotgun off him, gasping for air. He lay flat on his back as he drew in great heaving, breaths but managed to turn his head to see his dad approaching, gun still aimed on Peter, none other than Chris Argent hot on his heels.

 

 “You kids okay?” his dad asked as he cautiously knelt beside Stiles and Derek, checking Peter’s pulse. Peter didn’t so much as twitch at his father’s touch. His body sagged as Derek lowered him to the ground with halting, weary yet careful movements. Stiles twisted his head slightly to see that Peter’s eyes were closed, to watch as Derek shifted back from his uncle, onto his knees, staring with haunted eyes down at his prone form. It was as if the night had finally caught up to him and seized him with shock. He looked every bit as catatonic as Peter had once appeared to be.

 

 Stiles saw Chris Argent stop beside them, saw him take in the surrounding chaos, the fallen hunters, the sight of his father’s decapitated body, his severed head a few feet away. There was a tired, resigned look on his face that made him look older than his years and the arm holding the crossbow fell limp at his side. He seemed to sag with the relief of a man whose burden had been suddenly lifted, but there was a dark flicker of sadness there too, of loss. Perhaps not for the man his father was, but for the life he could have lived. Stiles could see it all written on his face.

 

 “Don’t worry,” Noah said when Laura stumbled over, wrapping Stiles’s coat around her once more. She stood over Derek and her uncle, watching as Noah wrapped a thick twisted cord twisted embedded little round white flowers. “I’ve got some of the same wolfsbane we used in the bullets to heal him once we have him secure,” he assured Laura, securing the cord before pulling out an identical length to bind Peter’s ankles.

 

 The efficiency was startling. Stiles was struck with the startling realisation that his dad had done this before.

 

 Chris Argent’s voice cut through the silence. “You have to get out of here now,” he said in a deep, assertive voice. “The rest of the sheriff’s department are on their way to back us up, following an anonymous report of shooting down at the old Hale House. They’ll be here any second and we’ve got a mess to clean up that you can’t be any part of.” He glanced around at the fallen house, then once again at the bodies sprawled in the mess of the last vestiges of the Hale’s history.

 

 When his eyes drifted once again to Gerard, Stiles pushed himself up onto his elbows – or tried to. His body seized up with pain, renewed with the rapidly dwindling adrenaline, reacting to the notion of safety and surging up with a barely stifled scream of pain. He trapped it behind his teeth, _just_ , grabbing his bloody side with shaking fingers, flopping back to the ground with eyes squeezed shut to contain the prickling there. Holy shit it hurt.

 

 When he squinted his eyes open again, his body throbbing, aching to the point of paralysation, his dad’s face swam above him.

 

 “Hey, kiddo.” His dad’s warm, steady voice fractured the nightmare, the panic in his chest into a calmer place, his well-practiced control fragile, strained with the sight of Stiles in pain but still in place, commanding. His dad was doing what he did best and taking charge of the situation, of the aftermath and everything else would fall into order after him. Knowing that, Stiles tried his best to relax, not resisting too much when his father tenderly peeled his hand away from his side, most likely looking for the source of the bleeding.

 

 He thought he lost a bit of time, because the next thing he knew his dad was urging someone to put pressure on the wound. Stiles whimpered without shame, eyes opening blearily to find Derek back in his clothes but with his shirt sleeves rolled up to avoid the blood covering his hands. Stiles’s blood. Thin black tendrils crept up his arms and the sight explained why the pain was lessening. He thought Derek’s jacket was over him too.

 

 “Dad,” Stiles croaked weakly. He was losing minutes at a time he was sure of it. Derek kept looking between his face and his wounded side.

 

 “It’s okay, the paramedics are on their way,” his dad assured him, carefully smoothing his sweaty hair back off his forehead. His hand felt unnaturally warm. Was he, Stiles that cold? Derek’s jacket felt really warm. It smelled so good, even if it was a bit dirty. Everything was going fuzzy but his dad was here and Derek was alive, Laura too. For just a second everything was still, he was safe. It was ok. But as the stillness spread through him, the shock seemed to course after it, as if released by the sudden relaxation in his bones. He started shaking.

 

 “Stiles?” Noah asked gently, then more sternly, “Stiles?”

 

 Stiles shook his head. He felt cold. He felt dizzy, like he was spinning even though he wasn’t moving and the world had an odd, foggy distance to it as his pulse pounded, rapid and loud in his ears. It was like watching through a haze when Chris Argent tentatively approached where Laura knelt beside Peter, the broken remnants of a family his own had destroyed.

 

 It was evident how tortured he was by the sight. His face was twisted with a grimace, tortured by the need to fix the wrong his father and sister had created, even if he was ultimately unable to do so. In the end, Chris drew a small pouch from his pocket, holding it out to Laura. There was a brief moment where their eyes locked, where Laura seemed to stiffen in surprise at the contrition he was showing.

 

 Stiles felt his father lean over him more closely. “You’re white as a sheet,” he muttered, tugging off his jacket and rolling it up to elevate his legs a little.

 

 Stiles felt detached from it all. He watched Laura tilt her head in what he could only assume was permission, tentative acceptance. Chris lowered himself to one knee and opened the pouch, pouring a sprinkle of dark powder onto the wound from the gunshot. Powdered wolfsbane, the same kind from the bullet his dad had used, Stiles thought, just as Chris Argent pressed the powder into the wound with his fingertips.

 

 Peter jerked, eyes shooting open and his lips parting around a scream. Laura wrapped herself around him. He writhed in her grasp, howling, eyes flashing like something from Stiles’s nightmares and when Chris Argent finally stumbled back away from him, Stiles swore he could just make out furls of purple smoke rising from the wound.

 

 “ _Stiles_ ,” his dad’s voice called him, “you with me, son?”

 

 Stiles swallowed, nodding stiffly, wincing when the action made is neck throb warningly.

 

 “Don’t move,” his dad insisted. The radio at his breast gave a distorted announcement that back up was imminent. “Laura,” his dad said urgently, “they’ll be here any second, you have to go.”

 

Peter was emitting laboured, wheezing gasps now caught between a sob and a growl. “I need it, need to be safe,” he practically panted, flinching as his niece threaded her fingers gently through his hair. “Need to be alpha, need it, need it, need it…”

 

 “Sssh,” Laura breathed gently as his rambling tapered off into gasping whispers. She stroked his scalp, kissed his forehead and pressed her cheek to it regardless of the blood. “You’re okay. We’re here. We’ve got you. We won’t leave you again, I promise.”

 

 Peter gripped Laura’s shoulder, claws sinking in not in aggression, but desperation, searching for an anchor.

 

 Suddenly, lights flashed out of the corner of his eye and Stiles felt his father tense beside him.

 

 “Laura,” his dad implored.

 

 Laura shook her head. “Our blood is here, too much of it, mine and Derek’s. And the hospital reported Peter missing as soon as I arrived there earlier tonight. I can’t ask you to cover this up, it’s too risky.”

 

 Noah gave a pained expression. “But if your uncle transforms in front of those paramedics and deputies…” He trailed off. It was not necessary to put into words how bad it would be if Peter accidentally exposed them in a moment of panic.

 

 “Peter,” Laura murmured, quiet but firm. “Humans are coming, good humans. You can’t change, do you hear me? You will not change.” There was that low-frequency hum to her voice, the reverberations even Stiles had come to recognise and could not ignore. It had both worked and failed in its use on Peter tonight. He just hoped it worked now.

 

 Peter’s body gave a shudder than had nothing to do with cold, his whispering quieting to stuttered, laboured breathing.

 

 Laura made a pained expression and squeezed him closer to her. “Keep calm. Don’t change, alright?” she repeated more gently.

 

 Peter said nothing in response.

 

  When the lights flashed on the trail that lead up to the wreckage that had been the house, when uniformed men broke into view Stiles’s awareness swam for a moment, but he swore he saw Peter Hale close his eyes and fall limp in is niece’s arms as the paramedics descended. His father squeezed his hand tightly, barking out orders in his authoritative, sheriff’s voice.

 

 Stiles’s head rolled dizzily and he stared up to find Derek’s face twisted with echoes of the pain he was taking from him. Stiles raised a clumsy, shaky hand, covering Derek’s fingers with his own. They slid through the blood covering them. “Derek,” he began, the sound almost lost to the chaos around them. He wanted to thank him, to tell him he’d taken enough, to ask him if he was ok, but the world went black.

 

*

 

 The world came back to him in strains of sensation. There was a tinny, empty sort of aura to the soft voices nearby and soft, constant beeping. He felt uncomfortable, his limbs heavy and itchy almost, his head too fuzzy. He felt cold still. A noise of protest wound its way up his throat but it sounded feeble. The thing that woke him though was an unpleasant pulling in his nose.

 

 When his eyes squinted open the lights above were dimmed and he was grateful for that. Not as grateful as he was to see his father’s face swimming above him though, or feel his hand on his clammy forehead. _Warm,_ he thought, _dad is so warm._ He tried to articulate as much but then another voice came from close by.

 

 “There we go, Mr Stilinski, stay nice and still.” The doctor wound up a line of thin tubing before he set it aside on a medical trolley. Oxygen tubes then, the thing that had awoken him. He must be alright if they were taking him off it. Stiles lifted his hand instinctively to rub at his nose as his bleary vision cleared. The lights were on the lower setting and the halls outside the open door were quiet. It was night time, then, or at least very early morning.

 

 He realised then that his concentration had drifted but the doctor had continued talking. “…still feel a bit groggy with the pain medication, Mr Stilinski,” he said, lifting the torch to check Stiles’s eyes as his dad pulled the visitor’s chair closer to the bed. “The wound in your side has been cleaned and stitched. You didn’t need surgery but you lost a fair bit of blood and you were in shock when you arrived.” He studied Stiles for a moment before pocketing the little torch, straightening up and scrawling something down on the clipboard on the trolley beside the bed.

 

 “Your pupils are still a bit large and you’re still pale but that could be attributed to blood loss. Your pulse and breathing have steadied and there’s no sign of infection in the wound so far.” The doctor, who Stiles thought he recognised from a few years back as Scott’s fellow lacrosse player Liam Dunbar’s dad, gave him a reassuring smile. Who could muster up friendly professionalism like that at such an ungodly hour? The sight did reduce some of his anxiousness at being back in a hospital somewhat.

 

 He hated this place.

 

 “I’ve signed off on your dad to stay. You have to keep off your feet because of the medication but you’re catheterised so you won’t have to worry about going to the bathroom. Just keep warm and still for me and a nurse will be in to check on you in a few hours.”

 

 Stiles just nodded woozily, leaving his dad to thank the doctor. It wasn’t until the man had disappeared into the quiet hallway that Stiles rolled his eyes back to his dad. His shoulder and his side felt blissfully numb for now, but his body still felt stiff. “How long?” he asked, words a little slurred. His dad stroked his hand with a tired, worry-lined expression, careful of the IV embedded in his skin.

 

 “It’s three in the morning,” he said quietly. “They saw you right away, you’re going to be fine.” His dad’s face spoke of his exhaustion, of the general worry he usually expressed when he knew Stiles was suffering but he didn’t have the look of a man whose son was dying. Stiles took his words as the truth.

 

 “M’cold,” Stiles mumbled. He hadn’t been in bed that long by the sounds of things, the tension from the chills in his abused body were most likely responsible for his discomfort, since the pain was under control. His dad leapt to his feet, apparently eager for something useful to do. He pulled out the blanket that had been sitting on a supply trolley just by the door and busily tucked it in around Stiles’s body.

 

 “What…?” Stiles cleared his throat and when he spoke again his voice was still a little rough but definitely more intelligible. “What happened to Derek? And Laura and their uncle? They didn’t get into trouble, did they?”

 

 His dad looked up from tucking the extra blanket around the base of the bed. Stiles wiggled his toes under the blankets, just to see if he could. He smiled when his dad covered them with his hands the way he used to when he’d tucked him in as a kid, stilling their fidgeting. “They’re all fine. Peter is downstairs in his own room being treated. Laura hasn’t left his side and Derek has been coming back and forth between his room and yours.” He gave Stiles a shrewd look at that. “He’s pretty smitten with you, you know?”

 

 Stiles thought if he’d been at full capacity, he may have blushed at that. As it was, he just wiggled his toes in his father’s grasp distractedly. “Mmmm,” he replied in a non-committal.

 

 His father wasn’t the sheriff for nothing, though. “You seem pretty infatuated yourself. You…you came around in the ambulance on the way over. You asked for him.”

 

 Stiles didn’t remember anything after Derek taking his pain as the flashing lights arrived on scene. He didn’t know what to say to that, really. His feelings for Derek had been blooming so gradually it was surprising to hear it put so bluntly like that, how deep he’d gone. Surprising yet right. Still, he felt a little exposed. It felt awfully like his dad was trying to have the ‘just how serious is this?’ conversation.

 

 “Well, you know,” Stiles tried for levity, “he does look good in a leather jacket and he has a pretty sexy car.”

 

 His father’s face twisted at the word ‘sexy’ and though he did seem pleased that Stiles was well enough to joke, he didn’t relent.

 

 Stiles sighed, looking up at the ceiling. He should’ve asked the doctor if he could drink something. His throat was so dry. “I think I’m in trouble, dad,” he admitted quietly, thinking of how it’d felt when he’d seen Peter’s rip through Derek’s body like he was made of paper, how his chest had become too tight and too empty all at once when Derek hadn’t gotten back up afterward. He thought of how he’d felt when he’d realised he was alive. He thought of laying in the cool grass at his side, of squeezing into his bed with him at night and just touching, of how Derek’s too-big smile grew when they had a good _English lesson_. He couldn’t pinpoint when he’d fallen so hard but now he looked at it, it was as clear as day.

 

 Derek had said he hadn’t taken on the wolf’s form since he’d escaped that form two years ago. But he had tonight and he’d done it to save his sister, yes, but he’d also put himself between Peter and Stiles, had taken Stiles’s pain into himself until he’d looked almost dizzy with it.

 

 “I think I love him, Dad.”

 

 The words were soft and husky in the quiet hospital, followed by a long silence. When Stiles finally felt brave enough to lower his gaze to meet his father’s again, it was warm and gentle. His dad squeezed both of his feet firmly.

 

 “Well for what it’s worth, he’s a good kid that’s done pretty well considering all he’s been through,” Noah said with a sigh. “And I’m pretty sure he loves you too.”

 

 Stiles twitched a toe at him. “So is that like…your blessing?”

 

 His father pinched the same toe firmly. “That’s like, my blessing and an official warning that if he doesn’t take care of you I’m pretty well-practiced in the science of wolfsbane, mountain ash and mistletoe by now.”

 

 Stiles smiled tiredly as his dad finished tucking the blankets in around him and came back to his side. He didn’t sit though, only reached for a cup with a straw that Stiles hadn’t noticed before, offering the straw to Stiles’s lips. Stiles sucked up some much-blessed fluid and relaxed into the pillows. He frowned when he realised it was his pillow from home. His favourite pillow that he didn’t even let Derek use when he stayed.

 

 Evidently having seen Stiles realise what his head was resting on, Noah smiled fondly and set the cup aside. “I suppose you could’ve picked a worse boyfriend,” he said as he took his seat at Stiles’s bedside once more. “Once you and Peter were both stable he kept himself busy by going to the apartment to get some clothes and things for both of you.”

 

 Stiles blinked. Derek had known his father wouldn’t want to leave Stiles, had known Stiles would probably want to see his father when he woke in a hospital that he didn’t exactly have the fondest memories of. Derek had remembered to get him his pillow. His throat felt a little tight. “Well if I wasn’t in love before,” he said, a little giddy with it all. His head felt so fuzzy.

 

 Stiles didn’t speak much after that. His dad told him the _official story_ that the authorities knew, the one that he, the Hales and Chris Argent had agreed to. Gerard and his men had abducted Peter Hale from the hospital, had been poisoning him to sabotage his recovery all this time for some misplaced vengeance for what had happened to Kate. They’d taken him out to the Hale house to kill him but Derek and Stiles had already been there, had then called Laura before Gerard realised they were there.

 

 Stiles was pleased to learn that the staff at the facility that had been ‘caring’ for Peter were being investigated too.

 

 Chris Argent had told the deputies investigating of a wild dog his father had boasted about earlier that night. How he’d been training it for the very purpose of ripping the Peter Hale to shreds in a sense of poetic justice for the wild animals that had killed his daughter, something which he’d always illogically blamed the Hales for.

 

 Stiles felt sickened when his dad told him the other deputies had indeed found kennels surrounded by high-voltage electrified wire fencing at a property Gerard had been renting. _Kennels_ that were more torture chambers than animal housing. Gerard had planned to keep a feral Peter and perhaps even Derek there, had he succeeded last night. At least his sickening plans, his madness had only helped Argent and his dad to spin a web of lies to protect the Hales in this instance.

 

 Chris Argent had ‘admitted’ to being the ‘anonymous’ tip to the sheriff’s station, saying his father had tried to involve him in his revenge plans and when he’d realised what was happening, had arrived on the scene to try and help however he could. Unfortunately, it seemed Gerard’s poor tortured attack dog had gotten loose, had attacked everyone in the clearing including Stiles. It’d resulted in Gerard and his men accidentally shooting each other in the chaos before the beast had killed its master too, ripped his head clean off and escaped when Chris and the sheriff had arrived.

 

 Chris Argent had also ‘admitted’ to accidentally shooting Peter while trying to shoot the dog as it went to finish Stiles off but Peter wasn’t pressing charges on that.

 

 It was a fairly elaborate, maybe even unbelievable tale and Stiles was sure there would be people that wouldn’t buy it, but his didn’t seem worried at all. He said he wasn’t allowed to participate in the investigation because of Stiles’s involvement. Apparently there were enough deputies that had helped him cover up supernatural cases before to help make their story work though, whatever that took. To Stiles’s disbelief, Parrish and Clark were both on the super-spectrum and Tara had helped his father way back when the supernatural had all come to light with the Hale fire.

 

 His dad wasn’t worried because this wasn’t the first unbelievable story they’d dealt with, likely wasn’t even the most farfetched. Definitely wouldn’t be the last.

 

 “I knew you’d helped the Hales,” Stiles said, feeling weariness swimming at the forefront of his mind once more. “But I didn’t realise how involved you were until I saw you securing Peter like an everyday perp. You do this a lot, don’t you? Battle the supernatural, secure it, cover it up?”

 

 His dad smiled wryly. “Didn’t you ever wonder where you got your sneakiness from?”

 

 Stiles gawped at him. “You so don’t get to be sneakier than me!”

 

 With a laugh, his dad took a sip of his vending machine coffee that had been sitting beside Stiles’s water. “Jealous of your old man, huh?” He hesitated, probably remembering Stiles’s annoyance when he’d realised his dad had been keeping him in the dark about the Hales and werewolves in general. “Not too pissed at me?”

 

 “No,” Stiles admitted after a moment. “Sort of proud, actually. You’re like…I don’t even know. A superhero or something.” He saw his dad’s pleased expression and it was so like the one he’d worn when Stiles had worshipped him as a kid, when he’d declared he wanted to be a sheriff just like his dad and save people. It made Stiles smile right back. He gave a little weary chuckle and closed his eyes, letting his head fall limp on the pillow. His favourite pillow.

 

 “Hmm, you owe me like…nine years of stories though,” he mumbled. “So better get started now. C’mon, spill. After the fire, when was the first time you dealt with a supernatural case?”

 

 His dad grabbed for the hospital pillow that had been discarded to the side (in favour of Stiles’s one from home) and settled it behind his back in the chair. “Well, do you remember the Walcotts from when you were in school?”

 

 Stiles nodded, just closing his eyes for a bit. “Mmm, yeah. They suddenly vanished, right? Ages ago.”

 

 “Yep,” his dad said. “Turns out they were a family of cannibalistic shapeshifters called wendigo.”

 

  Stiles thought it was mostly the drugs that made him chuckle to himself as he thought of Giles from Buffy. “You have no idea how cool you are, even cooler than a sheriff like… Super Sheriff. You fight crime by day and supernaturals by night.”

 

 “You are so out of it, kid,” his dad said affectionately, stroking his forehead again. “Want some more water?”

 

 Stiles made a little noise in the negative. “Nuh uh, come on, tell me about the wendigo and the other stuff you’ve been all secret sheriff about. But wendigo first.”

 

 His dad pulled his chair even closer to the bed. “You always did like the scary stories right before bed.”

 

 It was on the tip of Stiles’s tongue to say that that was the _only_ time for scary stories, when you were safely in bed, toes safely tucked in so the bogeyman couldn’t bite them, when your dad was right there and the lights were dim but still on. He was about to say as much but then his dad was telling the story and Stiles felt the last of the tension drain from his body at the sound of his voice.

 

 “So…people go missing all the time, even in a county like ours. It seemed that was how they got by, just taking one or two people. But then the next door neighbour reported some strange sounds. Like a wild animal. It turned out the Walcotts had a sound-proof… _cold food storage_ in the basement. It’s where they did their dirty work. But their younger son, about your age, he seemed to have gotten hungry while his parents were out, had opened the basement up and decided to play with his food. The girl they had in there had escaped into the house itself and was making a riot as he tried to get her back in. The neighbours called us to the house to check…”

 

*

 

 Stiles didn’t know when he’d fallen asleep. He didn’t even realise at first that he’d drifted to his father’s comforting voice. It was as if the next time he blinked the lights were bright, the noise of the hospital had risen to a soft but louder buzz and there was a nurse (who to his disappointment was not Melissa McCall, who must’ve been having a rare day off) fiddling with his drip and taking him off the heart monitor.

 

 His father sipped another coffee, lifting the cover from a breakfast trolley at Stiles’s bedside, most likely inspecting it was up to standard for his son, since he couldn’t do much else and…Derek Hale stood in the open doorway. Stiles stared at him, dazed, having trouble processing the sight of him as reality. It was like he was still stuck in a dream, still half asleep.

 

 Derek wasn’t wearing his leather jacket, but some clean jeans and a soft looking dark bottle green sweatshirt that made his eyes look vibrant in the fluorescent light. His beard was thicker than usual and he looked tired but he was there and watching Stiles as if the sight of him were more beautiful than any natural phenomenon. Like Stiles was a world wonder he’d never been privileged enough to take in before.

 

 Stiles couldn’t move for a long time. In fact, it wasn’t until his father noticed that Stiles was both awake and fixated on something in the doorway, that anyone spoke to break the spell.

 

 “Hey, Derek. Is Peter alright?” Noah asked.

 

 Derek’s gaze lingered on Stiles for a moment longer, before he seemed to reluctantly meet Noah’s eyes. “Good. Better,” he said, stepping into the room. The nurse gave him a flustered little smile before ducking out the door. Derek seemed oblivious of it until Stiles gave a sigh.

 

 “I don’t know how I feel about the woman responsible for my pain medication fluttering her eyelashes at my boyfriend,” he muttered before he could stop himself. He wasn’t sure who was more embarrassed by that statement, himself, his father who ran a hand over his weary face or Derek. The latter averted his eyes quickly, overcome by that boyish awkwardness that usually only Stiles got to see.

 

 Stiles’s heart skipped at the sight and Derek glanced up at him.

 

 He was glad his father didn’t have werewolf hearing.

 

 “Is everything still going as planned?” Noah asked, purposefully vague with a little flick of his head at the open door.

 

 Derek closed it before replying. “Wolfsbane work. Left only enough slow Peter’s healing. He…heals but slower, humans don’t…” The familiar way he looked to Stiles after struggling a few moments to find the right word made Stiles feel a little more at ease, a little less lost.

 

 “Suspect?” he suggested, smiling when Derek nodded. But Derek still kept his distance from the bed, from Stiles and it made uncertainty prickle in his gut. Without thinking, he tried to push up on his hands. Two things happened, his sore shoulder spiked even through the pain medication and the pain in his side throbbed enough to chase the breath from his lungs and make his eyes water.

 

 “Stiles!” Noah snapped, shooting forward to lay a gentle hand on his chest. “Stay still! You’ll tear your stitches!” His words were unnecessary, however, because Stiles had flopped uselessly back against the bed and for a moment could only focus on keeping the tears of pain from spilling. His medication must’ve _just_ been starting to wear off when the nurse had added more to his drip because he had definitely felt pain there.

 

 “The doctor also said he would put your arm in a sling to stop you from exerting your shoulder if you didn’t show common sense,” Noah said sharply.

 

 Stiles mumbled as his breath steadily returned to his lungs, half apology and half irritation.

 

 “No one else has questioned the statements you three gave the police, have they?” Noah asked as he ensured Stiles remained still, before he slowly, carefully used the button on the side of the hospital bed to lift him into a slightly elevated position.

 

 “No,” Derek replied, drawing closer with a wary look in his eyes that didn’t have anything to do with the sheriff’s department. “Argent say deputies clean up good. No trace. Will be fine,” Derek managed, looking at the edge of the bed uncertainly. An awkward silence fell between the three men until Noah seemed to comprehend what was going on, even though Stiles had no clue.

 

 Noah rose and covered Stiles’s breakfast again, then looked dramatically into his empty coffee cup. “I’ll be back in a bit, boys,” he said far too casually, before heading out the door, closing it pointedly behind him. The quiet he left in his wake was deafening, interspersed only by the distant hospital sounds beyond the room. Stiles couldn’t even fidget to alleviate the awkwardness. He couldn’t remember the last time silence between him and Derek had been anything other than comfortable. He did lower his gaze to the bed sheets, however, to where his too-pale hands were laying on top. He curled his fingers against the itchy, rough material.

 

 “Thanks,” he managed eventually, without looking up. “For remembering my pillow.” He felt so small and vulnerable, admitting how much something so small mattered. When Derek’s movement drew Stiles’s eyes upward, however, the glistening sheen to that worried gaze told him Derek probably already knew.

 

 Slowly, hesitantly, Derek reached up and brushed his thumb along Stiles’s hairline. His expression was lined with concern, brows drawn tight, but when Stiles’s heart skittered at the warm contact, it seemed to ease and he leant in. The beard was different, a little more scratchy and unkempt where usually it was soft, as Derek brushed his mouth over his forehead, along his brow, his nose.

 

 Stiles reached for him, fingers aching to curl into his scruff the way they always did but the IV pulled painfully at his skin and he gave a choked gasped. Derek grabbed his wrist with urgency, drawing the spike of pain away before he could really register it and leaning further down to press his scruffy cheek into Stiles’s hand fervently. It was as if he’d sensed Stiles’s need for the contact and had initiated it for him. It was so intimate Stiles felt his breath stutter. He curled his fingers into the dark hair and brought his heavy free hand up to grasp Derek’s neck to hold him close. He closed his eyes and just breathed for a long time.

 

 “Hurt,” Derek whispered roughly, “you hurt, because...of me.”

 

 Stiles shook his head. “No, you don’t get to take the blame. You don’t, you hear me?” He drew back enough to look into Derek’s eyes gravely. “Kate Argent started all this, she and her father did this when they preyed on you and your family just for being born the way you are. Lay the blame where it belongs, you hear me?”

 

 Derek winced, drawing back to sit on the edge of the bed. He stared down at where Stiles had grabbed hold of his wrist as he’d retreated, not allowing him to flee from this, to bear the weight of it alone. He watched as Stiles’s thumb stroked over his skin and seemed to take a long time to find the words he needed. It was times like these, where saying the right thing mattered that Stiles knew Derek struggled the most, felt frustrated with his disability the most.

 

 “I love and someone get hurt,” he whispered to their joined hands. “I try, do right but it…”

 

 Stiles thought they’d had a breakthrough yesterday evening, laying in the grass and saying things they’d never said to anyone else. He’d thought he’d seen a spark of a new beginning in Derek’s eyes. Now he knew he had, because there was a longing in Derek’s voice now where there used to be bitter defeat, hopefulness, as if he needed to be sure Stiles still believed Derek’s initial guilt was misplaced, that he still thought Derek was good.

 

 Stiles squeezed his hand tighter, as tight as his heavy limbs would allow. The fuzziness was coming back, the medication kicking in steadily but he had the presence of mind enough for the truth. Derek held guilt for what happened to his family, to Peter, to Stiles but there was a crack in what had once been an immovable, stone wall of blame, it was crumbling.

 

 Maybe, just maybe, he thought Derek might be ok. In fact, Stiles was going to make sure of it. He hoped his groggy smile portrayed that. “We’ll work through this,” he promised huskily, just in case it didn’t come through in his expression, “I’m not going anywhere.”

 

  There was a brief moment of stillness, then some of the tension seemed to ebb away and Derek gave a small nod. When he lifted his eyes to glance at Stiles from under his lashes, Stiles felt his own brows twitch with a frown.

_A journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step and all that_ , he thought distractedly.

 

 “What’s the matter?” Stiles asked. There was an air of innocence to the doubt on Derek’s face. Insecurity.

 

 “I…heard you…your dad,” Derek muttered clumsily. “What you said.”

 

 Stiles’s lips parted to express his confusion when it struck his medication addled brain. “You…? Oh my god, you were spying!” he declared, mortified. He must’ve been feeling a bit better to feel _this_ embarrassed. Did he have enough spare blood to blush?

 

 “Not, _no_ ,” Derek protested, apparently hasty to abate Stiles’s embarrassment. “Was check in, from Peter’s room. Wanted to see…if you were…okay.” He bit the inside of his mouth when Stiles just stared at him with wide eyes and lips parted with shock. “Sorry,” he added sheepishly, but he didn’t look too displeased at all about what he’d heard.

 

 That didn’t help Stiles’s embarrassment any. He turned his head resolutely away to stare hard at his breakfast tray balanced on a food trolley beside him. If he could pull it toward him he could give himself a focus and avoid Derek’s gaze a little longer at least. Plus he was hungry. At least he thought he was. But then Derek was leaning in again, arms braced either side of Stiles’s head on the metal headboard. Stiles didn’t turn his head to look at him. No. Though is stubbornness wavered just a little when he felt Derek do that nuzzling thing at his jaw.

 

 He wanted to ask Derek about his wolf shape, so many things about it and the fight as well but he didn’t think his brain could process that right now. He was too tired and it was too much already that his werewolf boyfriend had apparently overheard him admitting to his dad that he loved him. Wasn’t that the kind of thing you were meant to say to each other for the first time? Didn’t they have a lot of other things they needed to talk about before this? He felt like love should be the happy ever after, not the interlude.

 

 “Not embarrassed,” Derek urged him, speaking against the corner of his mouth. “Don’t be. I…” He slid his hand up to the opposite side of Stiles’s face to stroke the cheek Stiles kept turned away from him. “Everything tonight…last night is hard. So many bad things, things can’t begin to…”

 

 Stiles felt Derek’s frustration and relented a little, if only because Derek was trying so hard to get his words out. He tilted his head just a fraction to meet Derek’s eyes again. “I know,” he said gently, “everything must be pretty… _difficult_ for you, for all of you right now.” Difficult was an understatement really, but Derek gave a minute nod in agreement regardless.

 

 “Yes but still…good too, because of you. What you said,” Derek breathed.

 

 Derek’s struggle with his speech was far from over, he had a way to go but somehow he could still chase the breath from Stiles’s lungs with just a few select words. It was scary really, a tribute to how far gone Stiles was. He found himself just staring at Derek for a long time, his foggy brain taking a while to process it all.

 

 He thought of his own darker times he’d endured, the months, perhaps years after his mother died, after the ‘accident’ where the rehabilitation of his shoulder had gone so poorly. He remembered how his friends and his dad had dragged him to the movies or simply out into the sunlight, given him days where he’d been able to smile in a time he didn’t think it was possible. If he could do that for Derek, could incite one of those shy but pleased smiles then maybe it was okay that he hadn’t had a ‘big moment’, hadn’t offered that ‘ _Hollywood’_ admission. It was okay that his ‘I love you’ was a quiet moment amid the chaos. Thinking about it, he supposed that was sort of perfect.

 

Derek must have read his thoughts, must have seen the way he let go of his embarrassed petulance because he brushed his lips against Stiles’s gently.

 

 Stiles kissed back for just a moment, before turning his head to the side with a little noise of mortified awkwardness. “No,” he whined, “no trying to kiss me while my pee is in a bag down there.”

 

 Derek tilted his head back firmly. A glare and a barely audible growl were his way of telling Stiles how much he did not care about that, before he kissed him again. It was firmer the second time, demanding the breath left in Stiles’s lungs, showing him exactly what he wished he could do if he weren’t injured.

 

 Stiles let out a noise of muffled need, fingers curling in Derek’s shirt, tight with confusion at wanting something so badly that his mind and body just couldn’t cope with right then. He tried not to feel bereft when Derek drew back. Honestly, he was maybe even felt a little bit grateful with his head starting to feel a bit too foggy. He definitely felt grateful when Derek pulled the breakfast trolley to the side of the bed and uncovered the food again.

 

 Stiles looked at the tray which still felt so far away despite it being right next to him and poked at the control for the bed to help him sit up a bit more without hurting himself. Derek wrinkled his nose at the smell of the butter but spread it on Stiles’s toast anyway for him, apparently without thinking. It wasn’t until Stiles had accepted the sip of orange juice Derek had offered him, punctuating it with an odd little look, that Derek blinked at him.

 

 “What?” he asked, setting the glass down.

 

 Stiles raised an eyebrow. “You going to feed it to me or something?” he teased.

 

 Derek gave him a smile that was all big teeth and lifted a slice of toast, smearing one of the buttery edges over the tip of Stiles’s nose. “Not a chance,” he said clearly, concisely, before poking the toast triangle into Stiles’s mouth as it opened to protest.

 

 “You’re an asshole,” Stiles mumbled around a mouthful, trying for a glare he didn’t mean at all when Derek decanted the tea from the pot and sipped at it himself. “I’m going to call the nurse in to get rid of you.”

 

 Derek’s smile broadened. “No you won’t,” he mused. He knew Stiles wouldn’t want the tea, he knew Stiles liked his toast buttered all the way to the edges. They were little things as inconsequential as the favourite pillow but they made up a much more detailed picture.

 

 “Oh, yeah? Pretty sure of that, huh?” Stiles said, struggling to keep a straight face. The medication was now most definitely making him feel lovely and floaty, but he wasn’t sure if it was that alone making him feel so silly or if Derek’s pleased expression was just contagious. He thought he made Derek quite silly sometimes, able to enjoy himself more than he did on his own, but now, laid up in a hospital bed, it seemed it was the other way round. They were pretty perfect together, all things considered.

 

 Derek’s answer to his question was a quiet little sparkle in his eyes, a little tilt of his eyebrows that spoke volumes. _Because you love me,_ it said. Stiles had to agree. But there was something still there, a reservation, an uncertainty that kept Derek just a little distanced from him. Derek was troubled by something and as soon as he was out of this bed Stiles was going to figure it out.


	7. Life Too Short

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay everyone! I had to go into hospital a couple of weeks ago, just routine, nothing major, but it left me feeling a bit groggy for a few days so it knocked back my schedule! Also this chapter got away from me and turned out much longer than planned. But anyway, I'm here now! :) Only one more chapter after this so please let me know if there's anything you'd like to see in the finale. Thank you again for all your support with this story, I'm so overwhelmed with love for you all!

**Chapter Seven**

**_Life Too Short_ **

 

 

 

 The wounds across the side of Stiles’s stomach from Peter’s claws hadn’t ruptured anything important but they were deep enough that he swore he still felt the pull of the injury long after the stitches had been removed. There was that deep itch he remembered from the bullet all those years ago as well, the irritating sensation of tissues knitting back together deep down. More than once he found himself reaching to scratch an itch he couldn’t reach.

 

 On top of that, his shoulder ached almost worse than the place where Peter’s claws had ripped into him weeks ago. It was resisting healing as stubbornly as ever. He was eating healthy, he was doing his stupid exercises and everything else the physiotherapist had suggested, he must’ve just had poor healing abilities. This of course lead to him spending his mandatory bed-rest (policed by his father and Derek) Google-ing every possible reason for his slow healing rate.

 

The discomfort didn’t help his mood any. Telling him to sit still and rest was like asking a lit firework not to go off as it was. In the end, after he’d driven his dad mad by insisting Google said he had scurvy, he’d been allowed to free-roam _carefully._ So, naturally, a few days after his ‘release’ from bed rest, the first thing he did was make his escape. He seized one of the bunches of flowers his work colleagues had sent him and gingerly hobbled down to the Jeep, driving toward the hospital.

 

 Peter had fully healed, of course, even with the strain of wolfsbane that Laura, Chris Argent and his dad had administered (after treating the stronger dose from the initial bullet from his dad). The lesser dose was to slow his healing to a more ‘human’ rate for the benefit of the doctors and nurses, not as lethal as the bullet could have been, without treatment. In spite of this, the hospital were keeping him in for observation in a quiet ward for a little longer. Stiles hadn’t seen him, but apparently he was lucid and in control enough of his facilities now to comply when Laura suggested he play the stiff, newly awakened coma patient (and all it entailed) for long enough to be believable.

 

 So after convincing Melissa (who was blissfully unaware of the supernatural for now) that he was here to visit Derek’s uncle on his behalf, he made his way to his hospital room. He listened at the door for a moment, before cautiously peeping in through the window embedded into the wood. Peter was apparently watching the television mounted in the far corner and it looked as if he was alone.

 

 It was not the first time he wished he had werewolf senses to check the coast was clear. Still, as assured as he possibly could be with his inferior human eyes, ears and nose, Stiles knocked gently on the door before poking his head through. “Hey, um…Peter, I…” Shit. How much did Peter even remember from that night weeks ago? From the time he spied on him and Derek? He was suddenly all too aware that this man had stood outside his bedroom window like a creeper for who knew how long and he froze.

 

 “I’m…uh…Stiles, Stilinski. I’m Sheriff’s Stilinski’s son, obviously,” he rambled lamely, stepping into the room gingerly and shutting the door behind him. “I’m actually sort of a friend of Derek’s, well, more like a–”

 

 “Did you know they cancelled _Queer As Folk_?”

 

 Stiles stopped dead at the question, struck by the randomness of the words and the levity with which they’d tumbled over Peter’s lips. He just stared for a moment, his mouth frozen, half open. “I…what?”

 

 Peter turned back to the television, continuing to channel surf apparently. Stiles noticed he had bought the full entertainment package, but then he did have a pretty nice private room so he shouldn’t have been too surprised. It looked like he had more channels here than Stiles did at home.

 

 “ _Queer as Folk_ , the remake, of course. It ended in 2005 so one of the nurses tells me. _Andromeda_ also,” Peter said, his voice light but with an edge of mild annoyance and the same pinched expression Laura sometimes wore when she grew impatient with Derek.

 

 Stiles looked at the television as if it could offer advice as to how best to respond to that odd statement. It was unsurprisingly unhelpful. “Well…that was like…years ago? I guess every show has to end sometime,” he offered uncertainly.

 

 “Hmmm,” Peter said unhelpfully and ended up settling on a broadcast of the lunch time weather.

 

 Stiles edged further into the room, setting the flowers down on the window beside the other two bunches. He tried not to surreptitiously peek at the cards resting within the bouquets, to keep his inquisitiveness in check, but he must have failed, judging by the next words out of Peter’s mouth.

 

 “From Derek and Laura.”

 

 Stiles turned back to look at him, only to find a piercing blue gaze fixed on him. Not the shocking werewolf colour from the wreckage of the Hale house that night, but human, icy irises that belied the warm, affectionate crinkle at the corners.

 

 “I know Derek doesn’t look like the type to frequent florists but he has a guilt streak a mile wide, always has. He broke a piece of Talia’s wedding china once as a child and he made such a pitiable display for months. Burst into tears every time he glimpsed the cup’s twin until Talia had to put the whole set into storage.”

 

 Stiles bristled and he wasn’t sure why. Derek hadn’t spoken much of Peter since they’d been together but he had said his uncle had always been sarcastic, had loved his family more than anything, that he was brilliant but dangerous. Seeing the shark-like smile now, Stiles could believe it. He could see the sarcastic affection in his expression as he spoke of Derek, more like an impatient older brother than a parental figure. He could also see the way Peter was sizing him up, as if assessing him as a potential threat to what little family he had left and to himself. It made Stiles fidget where he stood despite the way his side pulsed in protest.

 

 “We didn’t have the best first meeting, did we, Stiles?” Peter asked after a long stretch of deafening silence, his tone more casual than before, almost inviting, as if he sensed Stiles’s apprehension. It didn’t make the sharp smile any softer though. Peter would indeed be a formidable enemy, if pushed. Stiles could only hope Peter would retain the control of his facilities now he was back with his alpha without the threat of hunters at his heels.

 

 “No, we didn’t,” Stiles agreed, lifting his chin a fraction in open defiance to the tremble of unease in his belly. “You were a creeper in my window and then you were some sort of rabid dog man thing.”

 

 Peter’s smile turned wistful and he cocked his head slightly, muting the television without tearing his eyes from Stiles. “A twisted face born from years of hunter conditioning. Gerard’s company is enough to drive anyone feral, after a time.”

 

 Stiles thought back to the two times he’d been under threat from Gerard and tried to conceal a shudder. “So…when you’re not… I mean, now you’re back with your pack, can you turn into a wolf like Laura and Derek?”

 

 “I couldn’t before. It was something only my sister Talia and her two oldest children ever managed. Perhaps Cora might have, had she…” Blankness crept over his face then and he turned to stare out of the window. The careful façade of pensiveness didn’t hide his pain from Stiles. For that moment he saw the wounded man beneath the mask and he felt a little more at ease. This was Derek and Laura’s uncle, who had also lost nearly everything years ago. He wasn’t any different from them, for all the sarcastic, biting flair he managed to exert even from a hospital bed.

 

 “That form you saw me in, at the house that night, it was something else. Something ill and twisted that could not think for itself. Hopefully those days are behind me,” Peter said, his voice still a little distant.

 

 Stiles found himself irrevocably drawn to the visiting chair and gingerly lowered himself into it. “Hopefully?” he questioned, even as Peter eyed his careful movements.

 

 “Well, no one is perfect and it has been some years,” Peter replied. “But the pack provides a bond that has always grounded me.”

 

 Stiles nodded. “It’s your anchor,” he said simply, understanding now, how Laura and Derek could just accept he’d recovered or at least had recovered enough to be deemed safe in public.

 

 Peter blinked at him, surprised, no doubt by his understanding. Then his gaze turned intrusively knowing as he said probingly, “Yes. I expect you’re well-versed in those.” It was as if Stiles were sitting there naked for all the awkward blushing that he experienced in response to that statement, for it was a statement, not a question.

 

 “Derek and Laura are really sorry about what happened, you know?” Stiles said, because he felt like he had to make it known, if Peter was making light of something that was eating away at the Hale siblings. It was most likely his defence mechanism, but Stiles still had to be sure. “They blame themselves, both of them, for not realising, for…everything.

 

 “Laura takes this alpha thing on her shoulders as if every little thing that goes wrong is hers to answer for and Derek…” He bit the inside of his cheek, thinking of the way Derek always came back from his hospital visits a little drained, how pale and weary he looked climbing in through Stiles’s window, now devoid of the mountain ash barrier.

 

 His dad had banned ‘sleepovers’ while Stiles was on bed rest. He really didn’t believe Stiles when he insisted they didn’t have _those_ kind of ‘sleepovers’ yet, but he supposed that could be largely blamed on an adolescence of bending the truth. Reap what you sew and all that.

 

 “Yes, I’m aware how wretched they feel,” Peter said, serious now. “I’m also aware there is very little they could have done and that their self-flagellation is entirely unfounded.”

 

 Stiles sat back a little at that, wincing at the way the sharp movement pulled at all his sore places. “Oh, you…you agree?”

 

 Peter waved him off with a roll of his eyes. “I’m not an idiot. I was stuck inside my body most of the time entirely lucid. I knew the lengths Gerard went to, to hide what was happening from them and I know what a devious prick he was too. I didn’t spend my inhibited years plotting revenge on my family, I spent it imagining one-thousand-and-one ways to end Gerard Argent.”

 

 “And you went with decapitation,” Stiles said before he could stop himself.

 

 Peter’s smile returned with a wide, openly amused aura now. “What can I say? I lost my head.”

 

 Stiles tried really hard not to find the morbid humour funny. It was sort of frightening how similar his sense of humour was to Peter’s. Entirely worrying for the type of person it made him, now he could see it from the outside.

 

 “So your assurances are well-intentioned but needless,” Peter assured him, “I know Derek and Laura are blameless. Still, it is the only entertainment I have to let them run back and forth to assuage their guilt by catering to my every whim. Playing a recovering atrophied coma patient is frightfully dull.”

 

 It took everything Stiles had not to let his jaw drop open in shock. “You are a… _horrible_ person.”

 

 Peter’s amusement remained. “I like you Stiles.” Stiles wasn’t entirely sure if that was a good thing or not but Peter was evidently pleased with Stiles’s assessment. “So, you can be honest,” Peter continued lightly. “Why are you here to see me? Apart from ensuring the safety of the general public, of course?”

 

 Stiles blushed furiously at being caught out and stared firmly at the silenced television. There was some afternoon show about rescued pets playing now. “Too nosy for my own good, I guess,” he mumbled awkwardly.

 

 “You wanted to see the one part of Derek he has likely not shared much with you,” Peter said immediately with smooth, easy confidence.

 

 Stiles’s head whipped back to look at him and he was really feeling the pain medication he’d skipped. He frowned and it wasn’t entirely from the dull, steadily returning throb. “Derek did tell me about you, about his family,” he protested, a little defensively.

 

 Peter rested his head against the pillow as he stared at him. “Not me, the wolf. You must’ve known in your heart why he’s kept himself at arm’s length since that night.” Again, not a question a statement, as if Peter were so sure he held the answers to the universe in the palm of his hand.

 

 Arrogant, Stiles thought but not in an entirely offensive way. Apart from this. This topic was most definitely hitting a sore spot. “You know nothing,” he returned flatly.

 

 “Derek is afraid of you, of sharing that last bit of himself, the wolf.”

 

 Stiles’s frown deepened. “I’ve known about the werewolf thing for ages.”

 

 A raised brow was the only prequel to Peter’s answer. “That _‘werewolf thing’_ runs deeper than gold eyes, claws and magically vanishing eyebrows, Stiles. It’s an animal, a beast and it’s as much a part of Derek as his right arm. He’s been keeping it from you.”

 

 Stiles rose from his chair in response, his hand going to his bad side on instinct even as his mind reeled. He thought of how attentive Derek had been since that moment in his own hospital room, attentive but also a little distant. He thought of the way Derek got that concerned, contemplative expression whenever he thought Stiles was occupied with the television, food or a book. He thought of how he so often _felt_ Derek watching him sleep with a gentle arm around him, fingers laced through his on his bad side to draw any wayward tendrils of pain. It was as if he were wondering how long the calmness would last, the warmth he’d said Stiles instilled in him.

 

 Derek was waiting for the other shoe to drop and Stiles to vanish like everyone else in his life.

 

 Stiles felt like he’d been punched in his not quite healed stomach.

 

 It was true, they hadn’t really talked about that night, the battle with Gerard. They’d both just somehow skirted around the topic the last few weeks. It’d become the elephant in the room that allowed Derek to keep just that little bit of distance between them. He hated that someone who didn’t know him at all like Peter had known that while he himself hadn’t even figured it out.

 

 “Don’t take it to heart, Stiles. I just know my nephew very well,” Peter said lightly, but Stiles was already awkwardly backing around the chair, fingers digging into the backrest for stability.

 

 “I…” Stiles blinked, shaking his head slightly, “I gotta go…”

 

 Peter didn’t respond apart from a little tilt of his head. He seemed to be listening to something, or perhaps smelling something. A moment later, he said, “I believe my nephew is on his way up now, if you’d just wait a minute or two?”

 

 Stiles didn’t wait. He took the long way down the corridor, this long-term care ward all-too familiar to him, and climbed into the lift in the far end. His feet carried him down the memorable route to the bus stop by the side visitor’s entrance and he climbed on without even really thinking. His mind was reeling. The fumble in his pocket for change was automatic, as was the flop of his head against the rattling window.

 

 There was no rain, at least. The sun had dipped behind the clouds to make for a bright but overcast afternoon. Stiles let the full weight of his thoughts fall against the glass where he rested his head, watching the world pass him by. He thought of that morning, waking up and feeling warm breath on his face, finding athoughtful gaze on him when he’d cracked open his eyes. It was hard to reconcile that soft, sleep-mussed Derek, the one whose lips slowly spread into a dazed, affectionate smile first thing in the morning, with the jet black wolf that had torn into Peter’s flesh to save him and Laura.

 

 He remembered the bizarre, twisted thing that had been Peter’s initial shape that night and wondered if things had been different, if Derek might have been the bloodthirsty monster that didn’t even recognise his own alpha. He didn’t think so. It wasn’t even a slight concern, it was incomprehensible. It wasn’t something he could believe would happen even if there were another Gerard Argent. Maybe that was naïve, but he liked to believe it was faith. Faith Derek evidently didn’t have in him, which was the real problem.

 

 He’d been so focussed on his physical recovery, on the fact that he’d seen men die that night. He held no love for Gerard and the hunters who’d tortured Peter Hale had done their part in burning down the Hale house, but there were some things you just couldn’t see and dismiss off-hand. He’d seen one man’s head ripped clean off and he’d be a liar if he said he’d just accepted that carnage and moved away from it unscathed. He didn’t think he’d forget the sight or the sound, the spray of blood in a long time. But he didn’t associate that trauma with Derek, it didn’t make him want to put distance between them or rethink their still relatively new relationship.

 

 He wasn’t entirely okay or free from trauma, no, but he _would_ be. The images haunted him sometimes at night, especially when he was already riled up from being trapped in the apartment. A strong forearm across his chest or broad fingers carding through his hair was enough to soothe the unease though. What bothered him was that Derek evidently assumed he couldn’t trust Stiles with this part of himself, even after everything. He didn’t blame Derek, exactly, he’d suffered enough to make him more than a little wary, it was understandable. Understanding didn’t negate the hurt any though.

 

 When you were young you just assumed when you admitted you loved each other that nothing else could ever touch you again, that that was paramount to your trust and everything would always be perfect always. The reality was things could still go wrong, people could still get hurt and it was a little hard to come to terms with that. That he and Derek might hurt each other again, that there was a part of Derek he still couldn’t reach.

 

 He climbed off the bus before he even realised where he was going, only to find his feet carrying him down his childhood street. He glanced distractedly at the familiar houses, at the tidy front yards and just let his memory drive him on until he came to a halt in front of the green house with the white trim and the front porch that he’d painted with his mom on her last good summer. It must’ve been the same paint because it was peeling a little now, though the abandoned bikes and swing set out front were just a little hint of how well-loved it was by its new owners. There were old-fashioned curtains at the windows that his mom would’ve probably actually liked too and a family station wagon in the drive. He heard noisy, happy kids from the backyard and smiled to himself.

 

 He’d taken the bus so many times from the hospital and back it was no wonder he’d instinctively ended up here when his mind was elsewhere. He felt nostalgic staring at his old house. He’d never been brave enough to come back since they’d moved but to his surprise he didn’t feel bitter, only…reconciled, as if seeing it now at the centre of a noisy happy family thriving with kids was the best kind of closure. He’d made some amazing memories with his parents here, it was sort of fitting that he and his dad had left it behind after she passed.

 

 It was like they’d taken their mourning, the difficult time in which they had to learn to live again into that new apartment and left their old house and the memories intact, like a shrine forever unfettered by the difficult years to follow. He wished he’d come here years before. The relief of it settled some of the knotted inferno in his belly to a low burn.

 

 Taking a shortcut down the side between his old house and the neighbour, he found the woodland behind the street exactly as he remembered. There was an old tyre swing shabbily built into one tree on the very edge but as he moved deeper it was as peaceful and untouched as ever. It wasn’t large, but it was big enough to offer a sense of isolation as he stopped against a walnut tree that still held his faded scratching of ‘MS 4 LM’ in its trunk. His lips quirked in embarrassed amusement at how different things had turned out, so different to what he’d imagined as a naïve child in love with Lydia Martin.

 

 He tipped his head up to peer up at the thick halo of leaves just as the sun broke through the clouds. He let the sun warm his upturned face for a moment, pulling his red hoodie tighter around him. His side was sore now, his medication due soon and he covered it gently. Things were peaceful here, always had been, perhaps that was why he’d been drawn here. In recent years his bedroom had been his sanctuary but that was full of so many memories of Derek now and he needed a neutral territory to clear his head. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling his frantic thoughts calming a little.

 

 When he opened them again, he let out a sharp bark of surprise at the sight of the man standing just a foot or so in front of him. He stumbled back, only just catching himself on the trunk of a nearby tree. His free hand clutched his chest as his heart hammered. “Jesus fff…” The word trailed off into a wheezing gasp as he struggled to recover from the shock of Derek’s sudden appearance. “Are you trying to kill me?” he demanded, a little hysterical.

 

 Derek’s face was pinched in a stern expression reminiscent of their first meeting. He stepped closer, his eyes roving Stiles’s body as if searching for further injury, before they came to rest upon his face. “You stay on couch. Promised.”

 

 Looking at the earnest, irritated concern on Derek’s face then made guilt prickle at the back of Stiles’s mind where it hadn’t before. With a grimace, he tentatively touched his sore side, searching for a way to excuse the way he’d snuck around while Derek had been out and his father at work. Before he could find one, he felt a gentle, warm palm brush his out of the way to slide up under his hoodie.

 

 Stiles hissed at the contact of cold fingers and Derek stilled, head jerking up to look at him in question. “No,” Stiles assured him through a wince, “don’t worry, just cold.”

 

 Derek looked back down, carefully smoothing his hand over the sore spot in Stiles’s side and draining black lines of pain from him. When it had dulled to a soft numbness, Derek gently circled the outside of the mostly healed wound with his knuckles. “Ran from me,” he muttered softly, lifting his gaze once more. “At hospital.”

 

 Stiles found himself wanting to divert his eyes again but he managed to keep the contact this time, just. “I didn’t know you were following me or anything, I thought you were there to see Peter and I just…” He shrugged. “I wasn’t ready to see you.” He found that _he_ was the one who’d chosen the wrong words then, was struggling for them when Derek withdrew his hand as if he’d been slapped.

 

 “No, Derek it’s not…” Stiles grit his teeth, frantically trying to find coherency. “Look, you’re keeping things from me. Or some _thing_ , anyway. You’re holding something back from me and I know I can’t expect to know everything about you in a few months or that just because of what I said the other day it’d all be all singing and dancing.” He said it all in one rushed breath and maybe he _had_ initially thought those things but he knew deep down that was stupid. He knew he and Derek would have days where they didn’t see eye-to-eye, that they’d argue and that it’d take time to get to know each other the way his parents had.

 

 Derek frowned, as if he could read Stiles’s thoughts, as if he’d heard them as well as the words he’d said aloud and didn’t understand what the problem was. “I…told. More anyone. Trust you.”

 

 Stiles thought he looked hurt, until he realised it was actually wariness. It was as if a part of Derek were edging away from him like it had been for weeks. He felt like he had to grab it with both hands now before it allowed an unconquerable distance to fall between them.

 

 “I know you do,” Stiles said, voice croaking a little. He thought he probably knew Derek better than anyone had before, knew things even Laura didn’t know about him. He swallowed. “Peter said you’re scared of me.”

 

 Derek’s frown turned to a scowl then. “Peter,” he muttered with irritation. He glared at the tree beside him as if it were to blame, or maybe as if he could see Peter’s face in it and wanted to punch it. With a sigh, he admitted softly, “not scared, not you. Power you have.”

 

 Stiles flinched.

 

_I’m not scared of you. I’m scared of the power you have over me,_ that’s what Derek meant. Stiles felt a little sick all of a sudden.

 

 “Derek,” he breathed, feeling woozy, “I’d _never_ make you do something you didn’t want to.”

 

 Derek set his jaw. His expression said he was annoyed with himself, for not being able to say what he wanted. “No,” he said impatiently, urgently, “no, not…” He thumped the bottom of his clenched fist against the tree trunk and it trembled and creaked warningly under the impact. Derek pressed his forehead to his clenched fist there and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, like he was struggling not to get angry at himself.

 

 “You, never hurt,” he managed through his self-flagellation, without moving or opening his eyes. “You…You’re everything.”

 

 Stiles felt staggered. He felt his stomach flip, his chest tighten but as he reached for Derek, the return of his difficult yet meaningful words stilled him before he made contact.

 

 “You see me, like that, like…an animal, killing,” Derek muttered, sounding wretched and vulnerable even as he spoke through clenched teeth. “That night, Laura not… _did not_ kill. I kill. I kill and you see. _Saw_ , I…” He snarled and pushed away from the tree as his fury with his disability piqued and he stalked a few paces before whirling on Stiles, anger as his defence now in a way it hadn’t been for a very long time.

 

 “Not guilty, don’t feel it. They kill my family. Hurt Peter. Want kill Laura and _you._ I’m…not sorry,” Derek said, all in a breathless rush so reminiscent of Stiles’s, yet with an overlying ripple of impatience for his stumbling words. He looked like he might start tearing trees down if he didn’t find the right words soon and Stiles took a step forward, wanting to calm him, to hold him, to let him know it didn’t matter if it took ten seconds or ten minutes to find the right words to make his point but Derek shook his head and took a step back in response.

 

 “I’m not sorry,” he said again, clearer this time. “For killing.”

 

 Stiles got it. Those men had ripped his family to pieces and he thought even the most soft of men couldn’t be blamed for being glad they were dead, for not caring. Derek was glad they were dead, glad he’d killed that man by throwing him in front of Gerard’s bullet. Would do it again, if he had to do the situation over. He didn’t feel guilt for it and he was worried about what that said about him, what Stiles might think of him once he admitted his feelings on all that had happened that night.

 

 “I…too long as wolf. Too animal.” His voice was soft then, almost lost to the woodland around them.

 

 Stiles did move forward then, drawn to Derek like the tide to the shore and when Derek tried to gesture for him to stay back, almost swat him away, Stiles stepped between his arms and just stood there. If Derek really thought he was a bad person, a monster, then the only thing to contradict that would be to stand vulnerable between arms that could crush him or rip him to pieces and just submit.

 

 Stiles studied his face hard. Derek’s hands had fallen limp when Stiles had stepped into his space but it took him a while to risk a glance up at Stiles’s eyes. When their gazes met, Stiles held it and ever so slightly tilted his head so that his throat was exposed.

 

 Derek’s eyes widened. The action drew him into movement on instinct. He reached out seemingly without thought or hesitation, sliding a hand behind Stiles’s neck to cup the base of his skull. His free hand smoothed over Stiles’s flanks as he drew him closer and pressed his nose to the exposed skin.

 

 Stiles’s entire body shuddered at the warmth, the closeness and the intimacy of it, knowing how much the display meant to Derek, their embrace and he slid one of his own hands up to rub at the hair at the back of Derek’s head, fingers scratching, kneading gently. Derek’s beard scratched at his shoulder, his breath felt hot on his cold skin and he just hoped Derek’s werewolf senses could tell how safe he felt right then, how much he trusted him.

 

 “I know I talk a lot,” Stiles murmured softly, “but did you not listen to a word I said the other night?” When Derek didn’t answer Stiles pulled back just enough so that he could look Derek in the eye, ensure he understood this time. “Wanting the people who _burned your family_ _alive_ to die, not being sorry you killed someone who did that does not make you evil,” Stiles said earnestly. “Maybe it makes you imperfect, bitter, flawed, _human,_ but certainly not evil. Derek, I never thought you were perfect.”

 

 Derek winced. “You…should have better. Murderer.”

 

 Stiles scowled then. “Maybe not perfect and I’m not condoning death and murder, but if you hadn’t pushed that man into the path of the gun Gerard would’ve blown my head off,” he argued. “I think your situation was pretty unique. And you know…when I pointed that gun at Gerard, I would have done it. I might’ve felt guilty after but it wouldn’t have stopped me from shooting him. Maybe I would’ve even killed that guy who tried to steal the car if he’d shot my dad instead. When someone you love is killed by a monster, it’s hard not to become the tainted by that, even a little.”

 

 He thought of the evil people his dad had both arrested and shot and the evil things they’d done for petty reasons. Maybe comparing them to Derek didn’t make Derek’s actions any less wrong, morally speaking, but he didn’t think he could judge what was right or wrong when he hadn’t been faced with the men who’d burned his family alive, tortured his uncle and then tried to kill his sister. Especially if he _had_ been faced with them, he couldn’t say he wouldn’t have done the exact same thing. Maybe worse.

 

 “You said…would kill Gerard, maybe guilty. I…I’m not. Don’t feel guilt,” Derek said hesitantly.

 

 “If Gerard had killed my dad, I would have ripped him to pieces,” Stiles said with surety, knowing Derek would hear the truth in his words. “In that case, I don’t think I would’ve felt an inch of guilt. There’s no pain I wouldn’t exact on someone who hurt my dad,” he slid both hands down Derek’s chest, before he added roughly, “or you.” The last two words caught in his throat a little.

 

 Derek’s hands came up to cover his where they rested.

 

 “When you love someone, you’ll do anything to keep them safe and when you can’t…” He trailed off because it was unimaginable, the lengths even very good men would go to, when they lost their loved ones to violence and cruelty. “It doesn’t make you a bad man, Derek, not to me anyway,” he said, enunciating each word carefully so there was no opportunity for misunderstandings. Maybe there were more moral men than him, men that could rise above violence and hatred but Stiles wasn’t, could only judge Derek on a level of his own _human_ imperfection.

 

 Humanity was imperfect by its very nature. Those men that had killed the Hales in a brutal way had been human, after all.

 

 “You’re not a monster. Not an animal. Staying a wolf for so long didn’t distance you from your humanity.” Maybe the trauma of what had lead him down that path had made him crack in places, tremble and threaten to break, but that didn’t make him a beast. “I’m not afraid of what you were capable of that night. Surprised, maybe but not afraid.” He curled his fingers in Derek’s jacket, still pinioned by Derek’s hands. “I knew you were strong in an abstract way, powerful even, but I’d never seen it with my own eyes, you know? And I thought you couldn’t transform, of course I was surprised but I was never scared.”

 

 “I… Laura, said was scared be the wolf,” Derek replied, “that stopped me.”

 

 “She said your own fear of being the wolf again was the reason you couldn’t transform,” Stiles surmised.

 

 Derek nodded. “When I did, I not… Wasn’t choice. Was instinct to save you, you and Laura.” He winced again and his grip on Stiles’s hands tightened briefly.

 

 Pulling his hands free, Stiles cupped his face, thumbs tracing his bearded jaw. “I could never be scared of you. Not ever.” He thought of saying the reason he’d been so surprised, had struggled to compare Derek to the wolf was because Derek, to him, had only ever been the gentlest, softest man he’d ever known. Grumpy, especially in the beginning, but still his gentle wolf, flawed and powerful yet capable of such softness. Imperfect and perfectly human.

 

 He wondered if Derek would’ve felt this unease, this fear of Stiles’s reaction to his abilities if Stiles had gotten to see his wolf before. He remembered seeing Laura, before he’d truly realised it was her and he wasn’t saying it hadn’t shocked him. He’d definitely been _more_ than a little afraid initially, until he;d realised the giant brown wolf was on their side, but he’d dealt with it. It wasn’t the shape of his wolf Derek feared Stiles’s reaction to, it was the carnage he was capable of. But there was one real thing that could show his acceptance of all of him, once and for all.

 

“Show me,” he breathed, letting his hands slid down to rest either side of Derek’s neck.

 

 Derek’s browed knitted in the middle.

 

 “What you look like,” Stiles elaborated, hoping those words portrayed what he wanted to say. The wolf was a part of Derek, just another outfit he wore and Stiles loved all of him.

 

 Derek hesitated. Then he stepped back out of Stiles’s reach. He glanced around, evidently checking to ensure there was no one close by, before he shrugged off his jacket and pulled his shirt over his head. He let his jeans fall to the ground and the dappled sunlight painted his nearly naked body as he lifted his gaze to Stiles’s once more.

 

 As Stiles watched, Derek body twisted, limbs snapping, soft tissue morphing. Derek seemed to reach forward a little and the shape of his body followed, bowing, _growing_ until Stiles was staring into golden-yellow eyes in the face of a large jet black wolf. He thought Derek was a little bigger than Laura had been but not by much. In daylight, the sun’s rays sent lighter streaks through the glossy fur and he could see a pleading, perturbed expression in those eyes.

 

 Slowly, Derek lowered his head a fraction, ears slightly off to the side.

 

  _Don’t be afraid of me_. Stiles was sure that was what he was saying. He may have let his old obsessive research impulses resurface in Google-ing the body language of wolves the first time he’d seen Laura transformed. He saw the friendly submission, the way his tail flickered between his hind legs. After a long moment, one where Stiles thought Derek was letting him get a good look at all that he was, Derek stepped forward.

 

 Stiles had the impression that he was trying to make himself smaller. He was crouching just a little as he neared Stiles, head low. When he was within reach, Stiles didn’t hesitate, he didn’t even draw a breath, he reached out in instinct and slid his fingers through silky soft fur. He didn’t exactly have small hands but they were dwarfed by Derek’s skull in this shape. He stroked the almost downy fur between his relaxed ears, all the way up to cup one of the jet black triangles.

 

 It flicked in his grasp and Stiles was so startled by the normalness of the reaction to his touch, reminiscent of the way Scott’s old dog Roxy had patiently endured his fascinated prodding when he was a kid. He gave a little laugh and gave the ear a tug. Derek’s tail sway as if he were laughing too. He smoothed his fingers down into the thick dark hair of Derek’s cheeks, the way he did Derek’s beard, before trailing down to stroke along his jaw and mouth.

 

 Derek lifted his head a little so it was more level with Stiles’s, so that Stiles could see a flash of perfectly white fangs when the movements of his fingers drew his lip up slightly. He held Derek’s gaze as he dragged the pad of his thumb over one of his canine’s, determined to show he wasn’t afraid, before he stroked down into the soft fur of Derek’s neck. He scratched firmly, in a way most canines liked.

 

 “You know your eyes are still gold,” Stiles said softly, remembering his werewolf lesson from Laura. “That means you didn’t hurt an innocent, right?” Maybe that wouldn’t be good enough for some, but it was good enough for him.

 

 Derek watched him silently. His tail wasn’t wagging but the lingering tension, the apprehension had visibly bled out of him. He nudged Stiles’s throat with his cold nose. Stiles snorted and before he could fully process it, Derek had flipped his head up and swiped a large tongue across Stiles’s face. Stiles let out a startled laugh and tumbled backward, locking his fingers into Derek’s fur in a frantic scrabble to save himself.

 

 Derek dove under him to take the brunt of the fall and Stiles dropped into his soft side with a surprised _‘oof’._ The impact still made his semi-healed wound and shoulder throb in warning, though not with the damage or agony of hitting the hard ground unchecked. Their fall spiralled into a little roll that took them both tumbling across the inclined grass.

 

 The aching tug that his mostly healed wound gave in warning halted their tussle, like Derek had felt it as keenly as Stiles. A paw hooked behind Stiles’s back, tugging him in carefully and Derek’s muzzle rubbed back and forth across his good shoulder with little throaty growls that Stiles could only describe as playful. Even through the pain nipping at him now, he laughed breathlessly, hand splaying over Derek’s wolf chest to still his licking, growling play.

 

 The same heartbeat that he’d felt a hundred times over thudded beneath his hand, the same breath. He lifted his gaze to find Derek flopped on his side, head lifted to survey him, slightly tilted as if he were listening to every vital organ Stiles had to ensure there had been no real damage.

 

 Stiles was stunned by the sight of him all over again. He curled his fingers in the little blaze of fur over Derek’s chest, over his heart and murmured softly, “you’re kind of beautiful, you know?”

 

 A low, rumbling growl that was nearly a purr was his only answer. The tension that had filled the air between them had vanished. There was only sunlight, only warm breath and the kind of buzz that dying laughter and fervent affection left behind. There would always be trouble in the world beyond the trees but that solace they’d found in each other months ago had been strengthened. Derek had trusted him with a part of himself he’d been afraid of sharing with him, with anyone else, really. Not only the danger of his supernatural strength but also the wolf that he’d been trapped inside for years.

 

 Stiles lay back against Derek’s body, feeling the heat rising from him and staring up as the leaves shifted with the breeze, letting the sun peer down at them between their movements. He closed his eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t stay in the apartment,” he offered, after a more comfortable silence than they’d felt in days. He’d never been very good at doing as he was told. “I just don’t do well, confined to a single space when my head is all…” He trailed off, gesturing wildly at his head before letting it flop onto Derek’s side.

 

 Derek made a huff in answer and Stiles twisted his neck (just a little to avoid straining his shoulder) to look up at Derek. Two familiar green eyes were looking down at him from Derek’s wolf face for a long moment, then Derek leant in. He dragged his nose through Stiles’s hair, before letting his teeth just barely touch at the durable shape of his jaw, with Stiles’s face still turned to him, nibbling gently.

 

 Stiles gave a little huff of laughter. “Yeah, you too, buddy,” he murmured softly, “you too.”

 

[ ](http://hyperlittlenori.tumblr.com/post/172447162579/extraordinary-cover-art-2-ive-been-in-the-mood)

 

 They didn’t stay long, it was a bright day and warm enough but the forest floor wasn’t conducive to good healing, even with a werewolf pillow, whether Derek could take the pain away or not. Stiles tried valiantly to occupy his gaze elsewhere, though couldn’t help but peek out of the corner of his eye while he thought Derek was occupied with pulling on his jeans after shedding his wolf’s shape. Derek noticed though, of course. He peered up at Stiles, caught him looking and when Stiles’s face flushed he laughed before turning back to his zipper and belt.

 

 Derek wasn’t exactly shy with his body, but Stiles’ hadn’t really been given opportunity to ogle it as he might like and to him that meant an unspoken request for him not to look. At least so far. He knew what Derek had been through and he could wait, really, but when he looked back at Derek again after quickly looking away to hide his peeking, he saw Derek still smiling wryly as he pulled on his shirt and jacket.

 

 “What?” Stiles asked, the smile catching.

 

 Derek shook his head. “You…watch.”

 

 Stiles went rigid and his ears burned. “Oh my God. I was not… _watching_ I just looked over and you,” he gestured frantically, “you with all your muscular thighs and arms that are just like…” Stiles scratched at the back of his head. “You shouldn’t take so long to get dressed if you don’t want someone to look, alright?”

 

 “Not say don’t want look,” Derek said simply and it was so automatic that Stiles just stopped and stared for a second.

 

 “You…you what?” he asked intelligibly.

 

 There was that almost cheeky smile in answer and Derek stepped toward him fully clothed again. He simply met his eyes for a beat, before reaching forward and circling his fingers around Stiles’s wrist without ever releasing his gaze. As soon as his lips parted around a reply, he seemed to twitch as if he’d heard something. He tilted his head, listening for a second then gesturing behind Stiles with his chin. “Let’s go. That way. Someone comes.”

 

 Stiles knew a flicker of frustration that was soothed by the fact that Derek didn’t release his hold on his wrist on their way out of the trees. The Camaro was waiting parked against the pavement, in the innocuous space between his old house and the one next door. As he relaxed into the passenger seat, he let the pull of overexerting himself too soon gnaw at him a little. He deserved it a little of the ache at least. But he supposed it was good that Derek got a taster of his restless, rebellious nature now, it was doubtful he would change.

 

 From what he saw in the flash of the affectionate smile he received, the brief moment their eyes met over the roof of the car as Derek unlocked it, Derek liked him just fine the way he was.

 

 Stiles had never liked leaving a discussion unresolved, but the prickle of disappointment regarding their interrupted conversation faded as the familiar setting caught them. There was a comfort in the usual scent of the leather interior, the rumble of the Camaro as they pulled out of the neighbourhood and onto the main road, the mix CD that was like their own private joke now.

 

 At the lights, the fingers that Stiles had left idle on his knee were covered by Derek’s own. He wanted to protest when he felt the tug of his discomfort, saw the little black tendrils but it had really started to swell as the time for his medication had long since passed. He could sense the moment where Derek waited for Stiles to argue, to swat him off as he did when the pain was too great for him to feel comfortable sharing with Derek for even a minute. It wasn’t an agony he couldn’t bear this time though. The memory of Derek’s unwavering insistence that a moment for him was worth relieving the constant ache for Stiles and the calm intimacy of the moment kept him silent for once.

 

 Derek’s fingers twisted between his.

 

 Their gentle quiet, back to how it always was. It felt good.

 

“You changed,” Stiles said as the traffic grew heavier the closer they drew to Downtown Beacon Hills. He let his head fall against the headrest sideways on so he could look at Derek when he glanced Stiles’s way. One of his dark brows lifted in questioning, saying a mouthful without his lips ever actually moving. “Into the wolf. You changed just to show me, like it was nothing.”

 

 Derek scowled at the road. “Not nothing.”

 

 Stiles gripped Derek’s fingers when he realised how his words had been taken. “That’s not what I meant,” Stiles insisted. “I just meant…you weren’t afraid. You changed for me, then changed back like it was easy. Well, not easy, I know what it cost you but you know what I mean. Like it was second nature. You weren’t afraid.”

 

 Derek relaxed as little at Stiles’s clarification, his thumb brushing reverently over Stiles’s knuckles as he kept his eyes on the road, currently at a standstill with traffic. “Knew change back.”

 

 “How could you have been so sure?” Stiles asked, a little awed, “You…you didn’t eve hesitate. You weren’t scared you’d get… _stuck_ again?”

 

 Derek canted his head in his direction. He looked calm, the twist of his mouth slightly wry as if he thought Stiles was foolish for not realising the answer, like it was obvious. “Then no anchor. Now. You.”

 

 Derek had lost his family unit, the thing that had grounded him and when he’d turned into the wolf he’d not been able to turn back, even if he wanted to. Not overwhelmed as he was.

 

 Stiles felt his cheeks burn a little at the simple belief that Derek’s words had carried. Derek had just known he could do it, because of whatever comfort, support or confidence Stiles gave him. However being an anchor worked. “I’m that good, huh?”

 

 “Stiles,” Derek said in mock warning

 

 Stiles cackled just as the lights turned green.

 

 As they stepped into the lift not much later, Stiles nudged Derek with his toe. “Hey, you wanna know what I think?”

 

 Derek cocked a brow at him, in a way that clearly said, ‘does it matter if I do’ in that exasperated, indulgent way he did.

 

 “I think your shiny new, quick-witted and charming anchor isn’t the only thing that made changing easier for you,” he said brushing his knuckles against the back of Derek’s hand where it hung at his side. He watched his reflection in the mirrored back wall of the lift. “I think…maybe you’re happy.”

 

 Derek’s life wasn’t without its challenges, his speech recovery, his guilt, just to name a couple, but he was pushing himself hard. He was _reading_ for Christ’s sake, he took Stiles out for coffee and had meals with him, his father and Laura at the family diner down the street. His life may not have been perfect but there were snatches of happiness that weren’t just glimpses now. They were sprawled throughout the regular ups and downs of anyone else’s life, supernatural powers not withstanding.

 

 “I think your life is something you’re not just enduring, but living,” Stiles continued, “maybe just a little.”

 

 The doors pinged open but Derek didn’t move, except to meet Stiles’s eyes fully. “A little,” Derek agreed, with that quiet, secret little almost-smile. “Because you.”

 

 For not the first or last time, Stiles marvelled at Derek’s ability to render him a speechless gooey mess with just a few words. His lips quirked into a pleased smile of his own and he leaned in.

 

 There was a little awkward cough and even _Derek_ jumped as they turned to see Sheriff Stilinski standing with his hand on the lift entrance with an uncomfortable expression. “Are you guys…getting out? Or am I going to receive a report of indecent exposure in ten minutes time?”

 

 “Oh my God, Dad!” Stiles choked, as his dad gestured them out of the lift with a far too amused wave of his hand.

 

*

 

 “I am driving a car,” Derek said just over a month later, from where he was sitting cross-legged on the bed, Stiles’s feet tucked under his thigh, eyes trained on the iPad in front of him. Stiles glanced up from where he was sitting up against the headboard with the copy of _Word Finding Strategies_ , watching Derek’s intense focus not even twitch when the automated female voice confirmed, _“Correct. I am driving a car.”_

 Another set of prompting images must’ve appeared on the screen because Derek said quicker this time, “The car is fast.”

 

 “ _Correct. The car is fast._ ”

 

 Stiles watched him silently as he spoke nearly without hesitation each time the app encouraged him to give the corresponding simple sentence. After the twelfth one in a row, however, Derek must’ve felt Stiles’s gaze on him because he lifted his head.

 

 “What?” he asked with a wary note to his voice.

 

 Stiles hesitated, he was glad Derek had made such progress in the last few months but he thought Derek’s efficiency was a lot more to do with practice, with using those 700 plus ‘item’ words and their corresponding sentence foundations every day. Not that there was anything wrong with that but…

 

 “Nothing, I just think maybe now you’ve mastered that bit try one of the other ones?”

 

 Derek scowled.

 

 Stiles closed the book in his lap. “Hey, don’t go all sour-wolf on me, you’ve done amazing but you’re above that level now.” He knew this was all because Derek struggled with the synonyms the other day. Derek’s own worst enemy was his impatience with himself, pushing himself too hard, too fast and then berating himself for being ‘too stupid’ or worse when he stumbled. Stiles curled his toes and fidgeted with them under Derek’s crossed legs, poking him the way he did when they were twined together in bed most nights.

 

 “You’ve done really well building up your word bank for common items and the reading app has helped with some of your sentence building but I think if we master some of the word finding strategies you’ll be able to drag the rest of those words out of that noggin’ of yours a lot easier.” When he saw Derek’s scowl linger he added sternly, taking no shit, “You’re not stupid, Derek, you’re too damn smart that’s the problem. Practicing has helped you get the basics but you need techniques for when you need a word you don’t just remember. You’ve already got the first letter strategy down, so let’s just try one of the others you wanted to bypass because you felt embarrassed, alright?”

 

 Derek looked as if he wanted to push off the bed and storm out of the room, Stiles’s direct, no prisoner approach sometimes did that, but if he did, he’d always come back when he’d cooled off, sometimes a little sheepish and often with something from Laura’s well-stocked snack cupboard. Today he merely stabbed at the iPad power button with annoyance and grudgingly turned to face Stiles.

 

 Stiles knew how hard it was for him, and while he didn’t want to coddle him, he did extend the olive branch and prod at Derek’s shin with his toes. After a moment of steadfastly ignoring the gentle probing back to compliance, Derek grabbed his foot between both hands and squeezed, just holding it, thumb pressing thoughtfully into the arch with slow circles. Stiles smiled, if the poking was his peace offering, his hand up back into a better state of mind then this was Derek’s way of acceptance. He was so tactile, really. It was probably a wolf thing that he’d gotten more and more comfortable sharing with Stiles until now, months after they’d first met, it was hard to recall any time Derek wasn’t actively touching him somehow.

 

 “Describe one,” Derek said eventually, only a little petulant.

 

 Stiles nodded and dragged the iPad over with his free foot, turning it to the relevant app. “Good idea. Maybe if we get one of these down as a back-up technique we can try the advanced sentence building one. Okay, here we go, big guy,” he said encouragingly, tugging his feet under him and setting the iPad in his lap so they could both see it. Derek shifted to sit next to him against the headboard and looked down with angry eyebrows and tight lips at the picture on display. He said nothing.

 

 Derek hadn’t come across these words in the other app and it wasn’t one he’d practiced before either, which made them perfect for use in _Word Finding Techniques_. He couldn’t just repeat what he’d heard someone, or even the app say recently, he had to use one of the techniques to try and figure them out. Techniques which Derek generally felt awkward about using because they made him feel like a ‘stupid child’.

 

Stiles nudged him with his shoulder. “Come on, you know the words, you just struggle with calling on the right one at the right time, or making them fit in the sentence. So when you struggle, you just have to use any of the describing strategies to remember, right?”

 

 Derek didn’t look away from the screen or acknowledge him verbally but Stiles knew his game face when he saw it. They made a pretty good team, really, he wasn’t trained and he was sure a professional could do wonders for Derek, but he didn’t take his self-flaggelation and he knew how to break his moods, knew which buttons to push.

 

 “So,” Stiles encouraged, tapping at the little picture on the screen. “Describe it. What type of thing is it? Do you know any words associated to it? Can you say something about it like….colour or taste, sound, smell, size, location…?” Oddly enough, he found if he kept talking while Derek concentrated, it seemed to help Derek focus. Maybe it was the background noise, maybe the sound of words in general. Stiles liked to think it was just his voice but most likely it was the lack of silence and the resounding pressure that Derek tended to associate with that.

 

 He looped back round to the initial prompt. “We do this out loud in practice, remember? The way you would in your head if you were stumbling over the word for it when in conversation.” He let his hand trail up to squeeze Derek’s thigh comfortingly. “Describe it to me.”

 

 Derek’s eyebrows twitched for a beat, then he said uncertainly, “round. Food.” He was silent for a second, then sighed heavily. It looked as if he were going to surrender to that but then Stiles saw him making the ‘L’ silently, before he added, “large.”

 

 Stiles nodded. “The book says you can use your hands as well.” He made a large-ish round shape with his hands. “Can you think of anything else?”

 

 Derek hesitated. He avoided Stiles’s eyes as he always did. His embarrassment over their ‘English lessons’ had significantly dropped to the point where his compliance was automatic, but they still made him feel like a child sometimes when Stiles had to prompt him more than usual, usually when they were using an activity or a method he wasn’t as good at or hadn’t tried before. It was a fine line between helpful and patronising that Stiles couldn’t always manage to tread.

 

 With Derek, he’d confessed he could picture the written word in his head a lot of the time, which was why the letter strategy worked so well. But the book said he apparently needed more than one method to rely on in order to move onto the conversation building. The books were their guide so far, with their inexperience. He’d tried to convince Derek to contact the supernatural friendly speech therapist Laura was in contact with but he’d gotten stonewalled on that at every turn so far. Maybe one day. For now, he thought they were doing pretty good. He let his hand slide down to lock their fingers together as he waited patiently.

 

 Derek really was beautiful when he concentrated.

 

 “Fruit,” Derek settled on at last and Stiles smiled at him. “Green.” It wasn’t something Derek had likely even seen recently either, so it was a tribute to Derek’s progress since they’d met when he’d either found the word or clammed up with a scowl. Only the smallest of frowns remained on his face now as he stared at the picture, fingertip tracing the edge of the iPad distractedly.

 

 Stiles peeked at his face again and swore he saw Derek’s lips move soundlessly once or twice before they tried, “watermelon?” He pushed the picture and said again. “Watermelon.”

 

 “ _Watermelon_ ,” the app confirmed, in the same way a lot of the others did and Derek’s ‘not’ pleased with himself expression was utterly failing. It was sort of adorable, if a grown man could be called adorable. Stiles decided Derek worked it pretty well.

 

 It was the delay that seemed to bother Derek, the process of having to go through the words he _could_ find to describe it, whilst clawing for the one he actually needed. It was the fact that someone was watching him, waiting for him. While Stiles was thrilled he was one of the few people Derek could handle seeing that side of him, that he was that trusted, he thought Derek’s recovery would benefit a lot from someone who knew what they were doing.

 

 He was known for nothing, if not his tendency to poke things that should probably be left to lie.

 

 “You know…the person Laura found could do some online sessions to start with if you’d feel more comfortable with that?” Stiles suggested when Derek had fallen silent at being presented with his eighth picture in the app, a little picture of a gas station pump. “There would be that level of separation. You could be in your own territory.” Derek’s head snapped up to him at that last word and Stiles gave him a sheepish smile. “You know what I mean.”

 

 Derek gave him a long look, before focussing back on the screen, which Stiles supposed was as much of an ‘I’ll think about it’ as he was going to get out of him. The way he edged his foot sideways when Stiles stretched his legs out, tucking his foot against the side of Stiles’s gently was enough of an appeal though. He just needed time. They had plenty of it.

 

 Stiles hooked his ankle round the appealing foot and turned back to the screen too. Only when he did, he saw Derek’s hand was over it, shielding it from his sight.

 

 “Hey,” he protested with a little laugh.

 

 “I will describe. You guess,” Derek said, enunciating carefully, but in a voice that was so deadpan that Stiles couldn’t help but think his mind was occupied elsewhere now. Was he worrying over something Stiles wasn’t aware of? It was on the tip of his tongue to ask what was wrong, but then those heavy brows lifted as if to ask if he were going to comply or not, so he just nodded.

 

 “Guess, right, cool. Good idea. Let’s see how good your describing is,” he said, words a little stilted by uncertainty. He’d have more readily admitted it was a great idea if he wasn’t so sure Derek was nervous about something. Nevertheless, he was surprised when Derek swiped the iPad from his lap and set it safely on the side table. He shifted to sit in front of Stiles’s knees, which drew up, along with Stiles’s brows in a silent question that went unanswered.

 

 Derek stared at him for a moment, before saying, “brown.” He looked so sincere, so focussed that it took Stiles a moment to remember what they were meant to be doing.

 

 “Right, brown,” he acknowledged. “Err, hang on, is it in this room?”

 

 “Yes,” Derek said easily, considering him a good few moments longer before adding, “bright.”

 

 Stiles blinked, looking around. Everything in Derek’s room was dark wood and grey with a splash of colour in the photos now attached to the wall on the far side and the books and DVDs that were collecting on the shelves, but nothing bright or brown. “I don’t,” he began, but it was him that trailed off, speechless when he realised that Derek had leaned in, focussed earnestly on his face. His gaze shining, green and so breathtaking Stiles lost a beat of his heart.

 

 Lips parting, Stiles struggled to find something to say, only to have a brush of Derek’s thumb silence him. Their faces were inches apart now and Stiles could hear how nervous Derek’s breathing was, nervous but excited too, his eyes bright and his face a little flushed. He was so…

 

 “Beautiful,” Derek whispered, like a clandestine secret and Stiles realised he was still describing something. He swallowed.

 

 “What is it?” he asked croakily, his hands sliding up to knot in the front of Derek’s shirt.

 

 “Your eyes,” Derek said softly, easily, with a little lilt to his tone suggesting Stiles was foolish for not guessing. It was all topped with a twist of a smile, then he shifted forward until he was kneeling over Stiles’s legs. It was like lying beneath a god right then, except more intense because Derek was flawed and real and all the more stunning for it.

 

 Derek’s thumb brushed up over one of his eyebrows, then just beneath to offer a whisper of a touch at his eyelid. Stiles closed his eyes at the gentle caress, letting Derek breathe, “eyes,” again more huskily this time. He was so close. His weight was warm and insistent against Stiles’s body, over his trapped thighs, his muscle perfectly heavy. He pressed in closer so Stiles could feel his breath on his cheeks and he shuddered when Derek’s touch ghosted down along the length of his nose. Stiles felt his heart jerk, only to laugh when the tip of his nose was prodded. The answering smile of Derek’s made him feel dizzy.

 

 “Nose,” Derek muttered, then, “ears,” as he traced the outline of one of them until Stiles squirmed under him. Derek’s smile broadened. He let his forehead rest against Stiles and closed his eyes as he audibly breathed him in, his chest _just_ touching Stiles’s on the inhalation. His fingers on both hands slid back to grip Stiles’s hair, just enough to make Stiles’s hips wriggle underneath Derek’s weight again, to inspire his own hands to grip Derek’s biceps, nails and all.

 

 “Hair.” His voice was rough and low in a way that made Stiles’s body shudder as if he were uttering the most dirty of words. “Mouth.” He punctuated that last by pressing his lips to Stiles’s, firm and hungry, devoid of the shyness of earlier. He gripped Stiles’s face, brushing against the shape of his jaw as he groaned into the kiss.

 

 Stiles swallowed the noises greedily, one of his own escaping when Derek’s tongue flicked briefly against the tip of his own. “Derek,” he panted between breathless kisses. “ _Fuck.”_

 

 Derek drew back just enough then that Stiles could see his smile, his eyes alight with mischief and arousal. “Fuck,” he echoed huskily.

 

 That word should not sound so good, like every wet dream come true on Derek’s lips. Stiles thought distractedly that Laura was going to kill him for teaching her recovering brother to swear but then Derek dove in again, mashing their mouths together with feverish urgency and he forgot everything that lay outside the room.

 

 They’d touched before, they spent most nights wrapped around each other and there were those kisses, so eager like Stiles was the breath Derek needed after nearly drowning, but it’d never been like this. It was like Derek had been freed of something. The ferocity with which he pressed Stiles to the bed, slid his hands up Stiles’s t-shirt to feel his heart pounding, flesh on flesh, was everything that he’d been holding back fleeing the gates of a prison of uncertainty.

 

 Stiles slid his own hands down, fingers skirting at the slither of skin between Derek’s belt and where his shirt had ridden up as they’d wriggled down flat on the bed. Derek was kneeling over him now, forearms braced on the bed either side of Stiles’s head, but at the touch of Stiles’s hands he reared back, not even hesitating as he dragged his shirt up over his head and tossed it aside.

 

 Staring up at Derek, revelling in the sight of him, corded muscle and confidence where he’d never seen it before, at least not like this, Stiles couldn’t help but smooth his hands up over Derek’s sides, his stomach. Derek shivered and Stiles flinched but before he could bring an apology for pushing at the boundaries of intimacy they’d never crossed before, at least not like this, Derek seized his wrists. He brought Stiles’s hands up to rest against his chest as he leaned down over Stiles again, as he was before.

 

 Stiles’s fingers curled against warm, firm skin, against the smattering of chest hair as he hesitated. It felt as if he’d been given a great gift, like Derek was trusting him with this part of himself and Stiles didn’t know how not to fuck it up. His thoughts must’ve registered on his face because Derek was kissing him again then, one arm curling between them awkwardly to hold Stiles’s palms flat to his flesh. Stiles felt the thump of Derek’s heart under his fingers and when their eyes met, Derek’s face held only softness and warmth. There was no hesitation there, no uncertainty. The heat between them had burned it away, or perhaps the trust had.

 

 “You have…everything. All me,” Derek murmured softly, and there was no fear now, like there had been in the woods when he’d said that, no reservations. “All the matters. This…more of same.” He lifted to let his hands rest on the hem of Stiles’s t-shirt again, caressing the warm skin beneath. “Think…been want… _wanting_...since then…”

 

 Since that day in the woods, Stiles surmised. He’d wanted this.

 

 “Not know how…to…” He frowned as he struggled and Stiles felt the urge to silence him with a kiss, not wanting to see that frown then, but Derek pressed on, “not know how to say. To tell. To ask. Never seem…”

 

 “Right?” Stiles suggested. Derek’s eyes were so damn green and so close Stiles could see all the other colours spraying across his iris like an artist’s palette. He’d never wanted anything so much in his life, but also never been so desperate to do it right, never so protective. He swallowed, trying to steady his nervous breathing. He slid his hands up to Derek’s neck, fingers firm but smooth, caressing. He could feel the strength in him even there, and yet all he was filled with was the urge to protect him. That was love, he supposed.

 

 “Are you sure?” he asked. He searched every inch of Derek’s face and felt his stomach kick at the return of that little, private smile that belonged only to him, stroked his fingers over Derek’s growing beard.

 

 Derek turned his head into the touch in answer, letting his lips smooth against Stiles’s palm, before nipping at the heel of it. “I want to,” Derek said clearly and Stiles couldn’t help but think it sounded an awful lot like ‘I’m ready’.

 

 The fingers that had hovered over the hem of Stiles’s rucked up shirt skittered down, feathering over his ribs and stomach until Stiles let out a breathy laugh torn between arousal and amusement. Derek flashed him a wider, more playful grin before tugging the shirt up over Stiles’s head. Stiles could feel how wild his hair went with the motion and when he self-consciously reached for it, Derek dragged his fingers through it roughly, making it worse.

 

 “Life too short,” Derek said then earnestly, solidifying his certainty in Stiles’s mind, “to not, when I want. If you want?”

 

 Stiles laughed breathlessly again. “Oh, dude, I _want_ ,” he confirmed, “don’t deny yourself on my account.” He hoped his enthusiasm settled any misconstrued doubts Derek may have harboured about _Stiles’s_ first time jitters. He smoothed a fingertip over Derek’s sinful mouth, every inch of him burning up when they parted, allowing him to dip inside briefly. “Jesus Christ,” he panted, receiving a nip to his fingertip. “You have to be like, the hottest virgin ever.”

 

 Derek snorted and Stiles grinned, pleased that the atmosphere hadn’t grown heavy with their decision. It was still light between them, still fun. Derek let his touch tickle as he drew his hand up to cup Stiles’s flank and Stiles squirmed, locking his legs behind Derek’s knees until they were wrestling on the bed. The mattress squeaked in protest as they rolled, and Stiles was grateful Laura was at work.

 

 He laughed when he managed to pin Derek to the bed, only to nearly fall straight off the side. Derek’s grip on his thighs saved him, _just_ , rolling with him back the opposite way. Stiles gave as good as he could, struggling for the top position and alternately reaching between them to tug their jeans open.

 

 There was a brightness in Derek’s eyes, something playful and glowing that as almost the wolf, Stiles thought and on instinct, when he found himself straddling Derek’s thighs in their tussling, he pinned all his weight down on Derek’s arms and dipped his head to bite at Derek’s throat. It wasn’t hard, but he held firm, sucking at the flesh captured between his teeth and the reaction was instant. Derek’s entire body went stiff, his head arched back and a guttural pleased sound ripped from his throat.

 

 Stiles released him and pressed his lips, then his nose just under Derek’s jaw, grinding his clothed groin against Derek’s own. There was too much between them still and they were both so hard it hurt. He panted against him, rocking hard, feeling Derek’s hips arch against him in answer. Blunt human-shaped fingernails dig into his ass through his open jeans.

 

 He bit at Derek’s neck again and Derek growled – honest to God growled. He surged up, taking Stiles with him until they were upright and Derek was kissing him hard. He was breathing rapidly, his lips grazing, tasting, scenting the line of Stiles’s jaw, then his adam’s apple, the hollow of his throat before reaching back for another frantic kiss, over and over.

 

 Derek made a noise that was almost a sob of relieved need every time their mouths met. It was as if his heart hurt with how much he wanted it and he felt simultaneously powerful and vulnerable in Stiles’s arms. His fingers were clumsy with want, tugging Stiles’s jeans down awkwardly with their position. He made urgent, pleading sounds into every open-mouthed caress that did things to the pit of Stiles’s stomach.

 

 He found himself both clinging to Derek, rutting his dick into his abdomen and trying to part enough to help him get his jeans off. In the end, with a wretched sound of negation he slid back off Derek’s lap to scramble clumsily out of his jeans. It wasn’t until they were gone with the rest of his clothes and he found himself in a messy tangle of limbs, completely bare to Derek’s eyes for the first time that he stopped. Derek was watching him with lust-blown eyes, as if hypnotised.

 

 Stiles wasn’t particularly body shy, he’d showered with plenty of guys in high school but this was the first time he’d ever been like this and with someone that meant this much to him, this close, this intimate. He shifted uncomfortably, not entirely sure what to do with himself, with him this naked and Derek still half-dressed. In the end, he swallowed the patter of nervousness and crept forward, only hesitating a second before splaying his fingers over Derek’s denim clad thighs.

 

 “So…how do you want to do this?” he asked, not sure whether he should help Derek off with his jeans or not. He’d been eager to get Stiles out of his a second ago but now he was so still and Stiles wasn’t sure how to ask Derek if he was sure he wanted to do this again, without seeming patronising. His voice seemed to snap Derek out of his daze, however, and his hands, warm and soft cupped the back of Stiles’s thighs, fingers teasing the little hairs there.

 

 “Not…not you over me,” he said.

 

 “Not with me straddling you?” Stiles had to clarify, had to be sure, because there was not wanting to be patronising and then there was doing something that might remind Derek of… _her_. He trusted Derek when he said he was ready, said he wanted this but that didn’t mean there weren’t things Derek wouldn’t want to do.

 

 “If okay?” Derek asked.

 

 Stiles beamed, the expression seeming to settle any unease in Derek’s expression. It was hard for him to admit he had limits, Stiles thought, but he would show Derek that was fine, normal. Just because Derek was stronger than normal didn’t mean that didn’t apply.

 

 “Oh, if you get these jeans off and get me on my back, big guy, that’s more than okay with me,” Stiles agreed, crawling a little self-consciously toward the head of the bed. The next thing he knew Derek had seized his ankle and yanked him back down the bed until he was half hanging off it, his legs sprawled either side of Derek, who stood on the floor at the foot of the bed.

 

 Recovering, Stiles pushed up onto his elbows, self-consciousness sputtering into non-existence like a snuffed out light at the fire in Derek’s eyes as he stared down at him. He was looking at Stiles like the wolf he was. Stiles would’ve made a teasing _Red Riding Hood_ reference if he’d been able to make his dry throat form words. Derek’s gaze pinned him like a caught butterfly as he shoved his jeans and boxers down, stepping out of them easily and sliding onto the bed over Stiles with all the fluidity of water.

 

 “Wanted long time…all of you,” Derek murmured as he kneeled over him, brushing his stubbly chin across Stiles’s shoulder until he squirmed with the delicious discomfort of it.

 

Stiles curled his arms round Derek’s back and up to grip his shoulders, hold him close. “You…you’ve had all of me, for a long time.” He rolled his head back when Derek laid his open mouth over the reddened flesh and squirmed, rocking his aching dick tentatively against Derek’s hip. He felt a soft groan against his shoulder and made an echo of the sound in answer, rutting harder up, feeling the hard weight of Derek’s cock caught between their bellies.

 

 “Then want this,” Derek said, “wanted… _want_.” He nipped at Stiles’s collarbone almost in reprimanding but then flinched back when Stiles’s body jerked in appreciation.

 

 “ _No_ ,” Stiles moaned, whined really, digging his fingers into Derek’s shoulders. “No, no, no. Good. So good, c’mon don’t stop. I’ll tell you if I want you to.” He curled his fingers in the hair at Derek’s nape and tugged a little until he could guide their lips together in a messy kiss as his urgency grew. “Mmm, you too, if you want. Tell me, yeah?”

 

 Derek’s reply was a grunt smothered by another kiss. Stiles let his hands trail down, trace every tightened muscle on Derek’s back, down to cup his ass and pull him closer to his body until their cocks slid together at the next undulation of their bodies. Derek let out a startled, choked sound of pleasure of the like Stiles had never heard before and then he caught sight of Derek’s face, flushed and breathless.

 

 “You’re kind of adorable,” he said breathlessly.

 

 Derek huffed, but looked fairly pleased, feathering his fingers across the place where the wound in Stiles’s side had healed, then his shoulder, which was protesting a little at the angle. Stiles shuddered again in spite of the tension in his limbs, trying to squirm back up the bed and drag Derek with him. Derek’s hand on his stomach pinned him in place.

 

 “Back,” Derek urged him, tilting his chin illustratively. He reached under his bed for something and it wasn’t until he was squeezing clear gel out of the tube he’d retrieved that he registered Stiles was just staring at him, mind fuzzy with lust. Derek smirked a little sheepishly, flicking the fingers of his clean hand. “Lay back.”

 

  Right, his shoulder, Stiles realised, letting himself fall flat. His head shot straight up again though when he felt Derek’s strong, slicked fingers grasp his cock. It throbbed in his hand. He gasped, reaching down but then Derek’s fingers pulled his own erection together with his, the upward stroke of his loose fist squeezing them together and Stiles was mesmerised.

 

 Without thinking, he reached out to cover their cocks with his hand too, fingers tangling with Derek’s to squeeze them together. The lube made the slippery slide noisy and wet and hot. A little groan was trapped behind his lips as his slow, torturous caress tugged Derek’s foreskin back so the swollen red tip kissed his own and he murmured hoarsely, “Fuck, that’s it. Just like that.”

 

 Derek’s muscles seemed to spasm in response to his voice, his words and he let go with an almost defeated whining groan. Both of his hands fell away to brace himself either side of Stiles, his head bowing as he just pushed his hips into Stiles’s movements.

 

 Stiles panted, stroking them together faster. He glanced up only long enough to see that Derek’s eyes were shut and his face flushed, mouth open as he lost himself to it. Stiles’s gaze flew back to where he squeezed their pricks together, where Derek was fucking his fist and grinding down into his own cock so good, so right, all Stiles had to do was stroke and drink in every inch of the man above him. And Derek, he was just riding it out, letting go what little restraint or uncertainty he had left and rutting into Stiles’s hand with abandon.

 

 As the intensity grew, as their breaths came sharper and Derek’s body started to jerk with every other thrust, Stiles felt his goddamn shoulder seize up and he swore roughly. He knew a moment of mortification, of betrayal from his body, the kind of frustration with his limitations he hadn’t felt in a long time. But it was just a moment, because before the fizz of arousal had even begun to fade, Derek moved his free hand, massaging the joint of his shoulder gently and urging it into subtle, gentle movement. His lube slicked hand came up to cover their erections where Stiles’s had left off, capturing the mood before it slipped away, for which Stiles was grateful. The firm, fluid jerks of his wrist slowed the roar of arousal gradually, until both of their hips were only rolling in soft undulations, the urgency faded.

 

 “Sorry,” Stiles whispered, breathless.

 

 Derek lowered his body, resting his forehead against Stiles’s and letting his grip on his shoulder slide away as the twinges settled. “It’s…okay. Let’s slow.”

 

 The lingering sting from the interference of his irritating shoulder dwindled under the warmth of Derek’s mouth, the slow kisses and the way he stroked their erections lazily together.

 

 “Will you fuck me?” he murmured, smoothing his hands up along Derek’s hairy thighs where they bracketed his hips now, with Derek kneeling over him. Derek’s eyes were dark with lust but they still searched Stiles carefully from their close proximity at those words, the way he always did when he wanted to be sure of something he didn’t have the words to question.

 

 “Sure?” he asked hoarsely.

 

 “Yeah. Oh my God, so sure.” Stiles slid his good arm between them to wrap his fingers around Derek’s then, urging him to continue the slow stroking that had stilled at his request. He wanted the first time to be all or nothing, of course, reckless as he was, greedy as he was for Derek. Derek had given everything of himself and Stiles just wanted…unless…

 

 “Unless you’d rather…? Or not at all? We can just…”

 

 “No,” Derek said quickly, setting back on his heels apparently unconcerned about his nudity. It must’ve been a werewolf thing, because Stiles was fighting the urge to pull Derek’s comforter over himself like a little shy school kid. “No,” Derek murmured again, softer now, tone reminiscent of the intimacy of a moment ago. He seemed a little lost for a moment, looking down at his hands and then Stiles’s skin as if he were unsure for a moment how to make them work, how to blend them with together as he had a moment before.

 

 “Hey, we can do uhh, _that_ another time,” Stiles said gently. “It doesn’t have to be today. It was just an idea I’d like, you know, at some point, if you did, that is.”

 

 Derek’s head shot up so fast Stiles jumped a little and found himself pinned by the soft determination in his gaze.

 

 “I want to, Stiles,” his voice went so gentle, so silvery on his name that Stiles felt a little frisson of heat ripple down his belly to his groin. He rolled onto his side then, pulling Stiles with him as he did until they were sprawled on their sides facing each other, Derek’s warm, strong fingers splayed across Stiles’s chest. “Let me choose.” It was an echo of that first time they’d touched intimately and the ghost of that moment, so well-preserved in Stiles’s mind kissed his flesh until little goosebumps rose in its wake. Derek’s hands smoothed over them slowly and Stiles stretched out his long legs to hook one behind Derek’s knee.

 

 “You got me,” he mused huskily, “so…how are we gonna do this?” He believed Derek when he said he wanted this, that he was ready, he wouldn’t insult him by insisting that he knew his mind better than Derek did himself, but if there was something or some way in particular he wanted to avoid, from the past…

 

 “Just don’t…not…” Derek’s mouth twisted in that show of frustration again and he gestured vaguely above them the way Stiles probably would have himself. “Not you…over me.”

 

 Stiles moistened his lips, choosing his words carefully. “Don’t _top_ you?”

 

 Derek blinked, silent as his mind searched. “Not that…that…yes. Fine. Good. Just not…” He sighed heavily and seized Stiles’s hips, tugging until he was sprawled clumsily astride him. He’d been on top of Derek in their tussle earlier but it seemed it was the mood as well as the position that mattered, the intent because where Derek’s face had been bright with carefree joy earlier, now it was pinched, strained.

 

 “Not this,” Derek said through a set jaw, before rolling Stiles off him again, careful to avoid jostling his tender shoulder as he brought him to his back in the centre of the bed. He lifted his eyebrows in a gesture that clearly asked if that was clear enough for Stiles, half propped up over him and Stiles couldn’t help but chuckle at the return of Derek’s talking eyebrows. His amusement seemed to banish the rigidity in the body hovering over him and he slid his better arm up round Derek’s neck, brushing the hair at Derek’s nape up the wrong way as he massaged the skin beneath.

 

 “I gotcha, big guy.”

 

 Derek’s gaze roved his face so often, a man of few words seeming to understand Stiles without him needing to make a sound. They searched him as if he were constantly reaffirming him in his memory, as if every inch of him were precious. “Show me?” he asked, long after Stiles’s heart rate steadied and the heat in his belly had cooled to a warm comfort rather than burning need. He was definitely still interested though.

 

  _Definitely._

 

_Slow, right slow,_ he reminded himself. It was probably for the best since they had limited experience, even combined. So it felt like the start all over again, a new moment, a slowly kindled flame this time rather than an explosion of heat. It was cushioned by humour and first time nerves and comforting intimacy as he arched clumsily to snag one of the fluffier pillows and shift it under his hips, before snatching up the forgotten bottle of lube.

 

 “Come and get me then, big guy,” he said.

 

 Derek gave a short laugh, snatching the bottle off him and covering him again. The laughter felt good breathed into Stiles’s mouth, tasting all the sweeter for it. When one of Derek’s warm hands cupped his face, sending little tendrils of static heat through his skin, Stiles moaned softly, dragging his toes up over Derek’s calves, tugging at the hairs there as he splayed his own hands up Derek’s sides, his back, his shoulders.

 

 “Slow,” Derek said with an amused smile against his jaw, stubble prickly and rough and shudder inducing.

 

 Stiles groaned through clenched teeth. He curled his fingers around Derek’s shoulders briefly before rubbing up and down, mimicking the motion with his feet along the backs of Derek’s thighs. He barely refrained from climbing him like a tree. “Yeah,” he agreed hoarsely, “yeah, slow, sorry just…virgin, and you’re so like…so good at this.”

 

 “Yeah?” Derek asked, lifting his head enough that Stiles thought he saw a brief glimpse of a pleased expression before he felt blunt teeth at his chin. “Feel…instincts?”

 

 “Like…instinctual?” Stiles panted, pushing at Derek’s god damn perfectly rounded ass with the sides of his ankles, urging him up against his body, closer. He wanted everything closer.

 

 “Yeah.” That one word should not have done such sinful things to Stiles’s body, should not send little sparks through every nerve. He wondered if it was a wolf thing or a human thing, this intuition regarding his body’s reactions, but it felt like his brain had short-circuited. Slow was hard when your mind raced at a mile a minute.

 

 “Hnnn, no,” he managed, even as he twisted his neck to the side for scraping passes of stubble and lips. “Let me too.”

 

 “Yeah,” Derek said again, this time the word breaking a little in the middle with the arousal burning through it, the aching need. The excitement was swelling again as their bodies started to grind together in whole-hearted agreement and enthusiasm.

 

 Stiles realised they were squirming again, arching together with clumsy, stuttered urgency. He somehow managed to flick the cap off the lube Derek had dropped beside them, the clear fluid spilling messily over his palm, wrist and the sheets and he so didn’t care. He worked a hand between them, resisting the temptation to touch his cock, which was already hard, red and pressing up of its own accord into Derek’s on every other thrust.

 

 “Fuck,” he breathed roughly, pushing his hand down quickly to ghost a finger just under his balls. He squirmed harder, feet planting flat on the bed either side of Derek’s hips and pressing down hard. He turned his head sharply to the side when his slick fingertips flickered between his cheeks, every sensation heightened by the embarrassment and Derek’s proximity. He’d done this before, mostly in the shower since he’d realised Derek could probably smell the evidence of masturbation. But a rushed fumble and press into his body during a quick wank in the shower didn’t even compare to this. It wasn’t even on the same planet.

 

 His cock pulsed, a jerk of heat rushing up his spine. Derek gave a guttural groan just under his ear at the apex of his jaw. The smell and the feel of Stiles made him grind his hips down hard, fuck the heavy weight of his own hardness into Stiles’s belly, leaving a messy slick trail and squeezing Stiles’s own erection between their bodies with every move.

 

 Stiles sank one finger into the tight heat of his body, tensing, but not at the intrusion, but at the clenching, rushing sensation in his belly. His neck snapped to the side, face burying in Derek’s neck, brushing back and forth as he tried to melt into the skin above him. “Yes, yes, c’mon, fuck me.” His voice was muffled by Derek’s sweat-dampened skin. He felt every tendon tighten against his lips, his cheek, dragged his nose over the pulse the way Derek did when they were alone and Derek grumbled low in his throat in appreciation.

 

 “Yeah? Like that?”

 

 Derek’s hand on his face slid behind his neck, cupping his nape, holding him in place, a silent plea for more as they writhed together. Stiles’s skin felt raw and sensitive from the beard-burn, his thighs were gripping Derek’s hips, urging him tighter, closer even though they were pressed together as much as they could be. Any shyness he’d felt on the bed earlier in that stilted moment was blown away by the intimate arousal. He felt brazen and confident like he hadn’t felt in years, like Derek’s heat was a safeguard against failure.

 

 “Want you.” Stiles barely recognised his own voice, thick and rough in his throat. “So fucking much. In me. Everywhere. Just…” He sucked hard at the hard line of Derek’s throat.

 

 Derek snarled. He pressed his nose hard against Stiles’s jaw. The hand on Stiles’s neck squeezed, just enough that Stiles got the message. Stiles was marking him, scenting him like another werewolf would and it was driving Derek crazy. Stiles let his teeth graze the flesh, marking in a way he knew Derek would feel even if it didn’t leave marks.

 

 “ _Stiles_.” Derek was nuzzling him, fucking _nuzzling_ him, giving little nipping bites of affection and appreciation that he almost couldn’t seem to help. He reached between them, awkward without stopping the roll of their hips, and circled his finger around the slick mess between Stiles’s cheeks, feeling the place where Stiles was stretching himself. He made a soft, inquiring sound and pushed his finger in beside Stiles’s, slick and smooth and held greedily.

 

 The burn ached, too soon but wet and familiar enough. Stiles was used to his own impatience and besides, the sensation were still nothing in comparison to the tight, clenching feeling dominating his every fibre. Where Stiles’s exploration was stretching, eager and with purpose, Derek’s was languid, curling against his walls and his breath was coming out in rough awed sounds against Stiles’s skin.

 

 “You, inside, burns.”

 

 “Only for you, babe,” Stiles mused breathlessly, “like a frickin’ supernova.”

 

 Derek’s chuckle was almost lost, only vibrations and his finger was curling just right in lazy, appreciative motions. Stiles thought there was no way Derek hadn’t done this to himself, to know what felt so good and the image was just about driving him to the edge when it curled at just the right spot to make his hips stutter.

 

 “Derek, _fuck,_ fuck me. _Holy_ –” His voice cut off into a strangled shocked sound of pleasure when Derek pushed a second finger in, bringing with it more impossible slickness, spreading then curling the same way, his thumb pressing up against his taint and circling until his cock oozed clear pleasure. Stiles bit down on Derek again, earning another rough grunt of appreciation, a circling of Derek’s fingers and thumb. It burned, the stretch but he thought his entire lower body was turning molten with it.

 

 His nose was so full of Derek, his senses overwhelmed by him. It was perfection all the more for its clumsiness and slight discomfort and the way he didn’t know how to pull his too-long legs up, the way Derek’s hips were just a bit wider, his body just a bit hairier and his flesh sweat-dampened where they pressed together. He could smell it, the sweat, the pre-come, the arousal, even the damn fabric softener Derek had used on those same sheets Stiles had folded all those months ago.

 

 He gave a startled little aroused laugh at the memory that turned into a groan of negation when Derek drew his fingers back. Derek’s weight, his heat and his closeness all lifted up. It took Stiles a moment, floating as he was, wherever he was to squint his eyes open, panting and sweaty to look up and see Derek stroking himself, sat back on his heels between Stiles’s legs. He was more squeezing than stroking really, eyes burning gold, face flushed and hair damp like his skin. He looked hungry and more overwhelmed than Stiles had ever seen him, more in need of an anchor.

 

 He didn’t ask if Derek was sure again. He knew what he needed. He reached out, sliding his hand up Derek’s arm where it was braced rigidly by Stiles’s side, dragging his own finger out of himself at last and just relaxing back against the bed. His hand was on Derek’s bicep now, urging him closer subtly. _‘Show me’_ Derek had said, so he would. He wrapped long fingers round Derek’s hardness, his own dick throbbing, his open body clenching in want as he stroked.

 

 Derek’s hand fell away to brace himse;f beside Stiles’s shoulder, head bowing, breath laboured. Every muscle in his torso was tight as if he were doing push-ups, surrendering, just letting Stiles fist his leaking dick slow and hard, hips shuddering as if he wanted to push forward and fuck his grip.

 

 “God, you feel good,” Stiles murmured, tilting his head to see around Derek’s bowed head to watch as he smoothed his thumb across the swollen head. He pinched the foreskin up over the slick, leaking tip, tugging it back and watching, feeling Derek buck every time he did. It was mesmerising, the difference the cut made.

 

 “Sensitive?” he asked and Derek made a low sound in his throat, jerking into every downward stroke now and curling his fingers into the comforter. He’d seen enough porn to know that no genitalia was really pretty, but Derek’s erection was thick and hard, jerking just a bit each time Stiles swept the pad of his thumb across the frenulum beneath the head and it really did make his mouth water, his stomach clench. He wanted it.

 

 “You have such a nice dick,” he murmured, not wanting to fall into the cliché of dirty talk but unable to stop himself. He stroked a little faster, embarrassingly fascinated by the way the swollen wet head peaked beneath the fold of skin. Derek didn’t seem to mind him playing, exploring. His eyes were open now, looking down at Stiles’s hand wrapped around him. He reached up, caressing the bone of Stiles’s wrist then the smattering of moles just at the joint of his thumb, as if revelling in all the evidence that it was Stiles’s hand on him.

 

 The lube was making wet noises the faster Stiles twisted his wrist. Derek was panting heavily now, toned body visibly tensing with each gasp for air and Stiles watched a tiny bead of sweat roll down Derek’s nose and splash on his chest. It was the hottest thing he’d ever even imagined, Derek, strong and powerful and yet gentle and trusting him enough to surrender it all over to him, to fall apart and know he was safe.

 

 He and Derek may hurt each other again, love enabled you to hurt each other all too frequently and deeply but he supposed what mattered was that they trusted each other to pick up the pieces after the storm blew over. Even his parents, who he’d thought had the perfect marriage as a kid, had not been without their faults. It was normal, it was real and that realisation, combined with the feel of Derek’s hair under his fingers and the knowledge that there was no part of Derek that wasn’t his now, was all he needed to lift what remained of the cloud that had settled over him. He pressed his lips to Derek’s with renewed hunger that grew more and more.

 

 “Fall apart,” Stiles urged, raspy. Even his good wrist was cramping now with the time he’d been doing this but he was unable to, unwilling to stop. He tugged Derek even closer so he could murmur directly in an adorably flushed ear. “Give it all up for me. Want it. Come on. I’ve got you…”

 

 Derek made a tortured, whining groan through his teeth like something inside him was breaking open in the most delicious way and he punched his hips forward, once, twice, over and over, fast and unrestrained, like something had been let loose. Stiles made a noise of appreciation he hadn’t known he was capable of and with each jerking push into his fist that Derek made, he guided him down, letting him fuck the slick valley between his cheeks.

 

 He gripped Derek’s hips with his knees, his own body writhing at the feel of Derek’s swollen, hard tip catching on his pliant opening with every pass. It felt wet, perfect, mouthed at Derek’s prick like a hungry mouth, wanting. He made a sound of need and released Derek to stroke himself, couldn’t _not_ and he canted his hips up so they were fucking as much as they could without one of them being inside the other.

 

 “Want… _please_ , in me, in me, Derek, _fuck_!” Stiles’s legs were already aching though and he pushed up a few more times, as if he needed more to tide him over for the moments of nothing it took to roll over onto his belly with a grunt. The pillow was damp with sweat and escaped lube as he curled over it and he didn’t care.

 

 Derek was back over him before he could even draw breath, his entire body plastered to Stiles’s back as tight as he could go. One arm curled around his breastbone, so Stiles’s cheek was resting on his forearm, locking them together even more tightly while Derek slid back between his cheeks. He massaged the firm muscle with one hand and this angle was even more perfect. The crest of every thrust gave a delicious nudge along his taint, against the back of his balls. Stiles shuddered and he pushed back, taking each thrust rather than accepting, fucking back against Derek’s cock and barely letting him push into him, taking before Derek had time to give. Greedy, hungry, impatient.

 

 “God, your fucking _dick_!” Stiles groaned, rubbing his cheek against Derek’s forearm, relishing in the prickling tickle of the hair there. His belly hurt with how tight it was clenching. His own cock was luckily hanging down, just touching the bed but not at an angle to give him any real stimulation. It was frustrating but likely the only reason he hadn’t come. He was damp all over and shuddery with sensitivity.

 

 Derek gave a breathy laugh right against his ear. “Yours too…” Derek released his ass in favour of reaching around, squeezing his hand between Stiles’s hip and the bed to stroke his leaking, neglected cock. “Long. Thick. Hot.” It never had mattered _less_ that Derek’s words were limited, whatever he gave, in that voice, just for Stiles was everything. It did things that made Stiles so dangerously close.

 

 “Hnnn- _no_ ,” Stiles groaned into Derek’s arm, hips shaking with spasms. So close, so close, so _close_. “Stop. Going to…”

 

 A noise of frustrated hunger, ripped out of Derek and he squeezed Stiles a final time before letting him go. He grasped his ass again, pulling him open so that on the next thrust, the head of his cock caught _just_ at the softened, clenching ring of muscle. It was so ridiculously wet with lube and pre-come now that it would’ve been gross if it wasn’t so hot.

 

 “Yeah, nice, so…” Stiles bit hard at his lip, shifting his hips impatiently and tipping his ass up to mouth just at the very tip.

 

 Derek drew in a harsh breath, a growling grunt vibrating against the back of Stiles’s ear, all the way down his back from Derek’s chest pressed to it.

 

 “Sensitive?” Stiles asked again hoarsely, biting at Derek’s forearm as he pushed back more, the flared head burned in the best way and made him ache. He wanted to wait, wanted to tease more of a response out of Derek but he was too hungry for it. He squirmed back, awkward pinned as the rest of him was, feeling his slick muscles flare and give, pulse with burning heat and then just _ache_ as the head sank into him. He closed around the glans and held on.

 

 Stiles let out a satisfied groan the same moment that Derek growled out a strangled, shocked gasp, slightly higher than usual, his entire body tensed at the soft, gripping heat and he unwittingly rubbed his nose back and forth against the side of Stiles’s face as he seemed to lock in place, not able to move. It was the sound and feel of a man who’d never let himself feel so good, breaking apart at the feel of pleasure. If Stiles had thought Derek loved kissing him, ate up affection and tenderness like a man starved, that was nothing to this.

 

 “Ssssh,” Stiles whispered softly, stretching his better arm back to drag his fingers through Derek’s sweaty hair, urge him to continue nuzzling against his cheek since he couldn’t quite kiss him at that angle. “I’ve got you,” he assured him, feeling warm and giddy with the intimacy of having Derek inside him, however slightly, at feeling how much it meant to him. “You’re so sweet. I’ve got you, come on, deeper.”

 

 Derek shook his head, sounding feverish.

 

 “You won’t come,” Stiles said, sure of it. “We’ll go slow. Deeper. Come on, give me all of you.”

 

 “ _Stiles_ ,” Derek managed, voice rough. Stiles circled his hips just a little and something in him, in Derek just gave. He sank in then like it was inevitable, wet and firm and unstoppable like dropping into water and Stiles groaned as Derek bottomed out in one stroke. The firm muscles of his stomach pressed flat to the top of Stiles’s ass and his dick pushed at his stomach from the inside, or so it felt.

 

 “ _Fuck_ ,” Stiles groaned, inarticulate, completely still now, completely full of Derek and covered. It hurt. He was so sore and his muscles clenched, wanting to expel and hold on all at once. He could barely breathe, lungs constricted from the position. Perfect. His hole convulsed, struggling to cope with the fullness. It hurt. He turned his face to press against Derek’s arm fully now and just groaned out his relief and devastation into the skin, unwittingly exposing his neck to more of Derek’s nuzzling, bearded kisses.

 

 “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop,” Stiles hissed urgently, unable to move himself now but still wanting more. He’d read almost every ‘good anal sex’ blog, he’d watched porn, read fan fiction for Christ’s sake and knew it was customary for a moment to breathe but he didn’t want it, he just wanted more. He squirmed or tried to but Derek’s weight was firm above him. Derek’s breath was so rough in his ear it sounded like he was about to burst.

 

 “You…squeeze me, hot, so fuck hot,” Derek panted, dragging his hips up just a bit, more of a twitch really and pushing back in, flattening Stiles completely to the bed.

 

 Stiles gave a hiccup of a grunt and mouthed Derek’s wrist, a grateful sound of pleasure dragged out of him at the friction when Derek gave another slight movement inside him, then another, then another. Derek’s thumb flicked up to drag across his lower lip, teeth, tongue. Stiles revelled in it, jerking, shuddering, biting at Derek’s thumb as he was fucked with the smallest thrusts deep in him, groaning when his tongue was pinned to the bottom of his mouth. He sucked hard, locking it inside his mouth, biting gently, worshipping the one part of Derek he could reach. This wasn’t going to last long.

 

 Derek growled, honest to God growled at Stiles’s neck, just under his ear and pushed one of Stiles’s knees up so he was spread flat and sprawled open beneath him. Stiles felt raw, beard-burned and exposed everywhere. He was as open as a person could possibly be, a little light-headed from his laboured breaths and he was absolutely soaring.

 

 Derek’s hips were lifting off his a little more with each movement now, gradually growing deeper, longer. It still hurt a bit, the stretch, the invasion more insistent and relentless than fingers. It was still there, the ache, but it dulled and merged with the surging buzz of pleasure into something that made his muscles low in his belly, sore from clenching, send him hurtling toward the precipice of orgasm too soon and yet not soon enough. So close.

 

 Derek was close too, he could feel it. In the way he was tensed all over, practically gasping for breath, hard and thick inside him like heated iron except _pulsing_ too, Stiles swore he was. Derek shifted up just enough to arch forward and bring their lips together slantways, messy, and sloppy without straining Stiles’s shoulder. The action shifted Stiles enough that his cock caught between the pillow and his chest at last, creating frustrating, not-quite-enough friction.

 

 Stiles moaned eagerly into his mouth when that tongue flickered between his lips, teasing, taunting his own tongue with little flicks before melding their mouths together hard. In the dizzy fog of his mind, Stiles thought about wolves licking each other’s mouths in the ultimate sign of trust, then he didn’t think of much at all. He was buzzing all over, like he was plugged in, both of them a clumsy tangle of writhing limbs trying to melt together.

 

 Little fireworks burst low in his body as Derek’s longer, grinding thrusts caught the place inside Derek had fingered earlier, that he had himself before. Oh, he knew what his damn prostate was alright, they were good friends, but Derek was fucking making love to it like this was their last day on earth.

 

 A throaty noise of urgent pleasure ripped from his chest, smothered by Derek’s mouth and his entire body seized up as Derek fucked that perfect spot without mercy until the tightness building finally snapped, burst like an overloaded damn. He spilled between his belly and the pillow. Derek grumbled in appreciation, letting his kisses trail off of Stiles’s mouth to latch onto the spot behind his ear, sucking, nipping frantically as he fucked Stiles’s prostate through it, chased his own end even as Stiles continued to shake with his own.

 

 Stiles swore his throat closed up, his lungs bruised and his body numb and sensate. He turned his face to Derek’s forearm a final time and just collapsed, wrung out and only moving with little spasms that he had no control over. It was sensitive and sore and throbbed but he couldn’t stop. He was sensate, drunk with it and clutching greedily, not wanting it to end. The euphoria of orgasm prolonged by Derek milking him dry of everything he had until he felt drugged and dizzy,

 

 Derek thrust hard then, diving in so deep Stiles swore he felt it in his diaphragm. When Derek pulled out he felt cored open, empty and ungrounded, only to be pressed to the bed under Derek’s weight. The slick heat of Derek’s dick slid up his crack a final time until it crested at his tailbone, where it pulsed his orgasm out across the small of his back, sliding wet and warm and sticky between them as Derek all-but collapsed on him.

 

 Derek moaned softly, dragging his lips across the very back of Stiles’s neck once, twice before reluctantly sliding off him. Stiles protested, but only when Derek tugged him sideways, so he was sprawled on his side Derek curled against his sticky back did he realise how grateful he was for breath again.

 

 He let out a shaky, weak laugh. “We are awesome at this,” he exhaled, completely limp not even able to twitch a toe.

 

 “Awesome,” Derek echoed lightly, sounding almost asleep.

 

 It was on the tip of Stiles’s tongue to say that he was so awesome he completely wiped out a werewolf but there was no way he could string that many words together and offer up coherency. Instead he winced and murmured, “ergh, sticky.”

 

 There was a huff of laughter against his neck, which felt remarkably raw now that the afterglow was fading. Derek slung an arm over his waist clumsily and seemed to just sink into him, apparently utterly spent, relaxed. Safe. Stiles dragged a hand over the arm wrapped around him. He drifted, probably into a post-orgasmic doze because he gave a little jerk as he came back to awareness, blinking dazedly at Derek’s bedroom as he wondered how long he’d been out. He settled when the arm around him gave a little beseeching squeeze, going limp against Derek’s warmth. The stillness lasted for all of ten minutes before Stiles rolled over to face him.

 

 “No,” Derek protested, grumbling, “you not ever still?”

 

 Stiles grinned, just staring at Derek’s flushed, sated expression as his thick lashes fluttered open. He surfaced, eyes glazed and piercing complicated green and so… _happy._ Stiles felt like he was still floating somewhere up in the clouds at the sight of it. He groaned, thudding his forehead lightly against Derek’s and dragging his blunt nails against his scruffy jaw. “Derek Hale I am so fucking gone on you,” he said mournfully, as if it were a terrible fate.

 

 Derek’s answering laugh was low, rumbling and content. “Romantic,” he mused.

 

 Stiles’s eyes burned with mischief then. “Oh, you want romance? I can do that. I am like…the candlelit dinner in _Florence_ of romance, dude. I’ve been dreaming up overtures for my nonexistent lover since Lydia first snubbed me for Jackson Whittemore back in middle school.” His playfulness made Derek smirk and lean in for a kiss. Stiles dodged him, scrambling until he lay completely flat on top of Derek, who craned his neck, diving in for the kiss again before Stiles rolled off him, or tried to. The sheet caught them both in a tangle of limbs and they rolled straight off the bed.

 

 Derek growled playfully, landing on the bottom of their scuffle with a grunt and capturing the back of Stiles’s neck so he could devour his breathless laugh from the source with a kiss. Stiles was still chuckling into his mouth when Derek rolled them and their tangle of sheets across the floor, Stiles’s arms wrapping around him, restricted by fabric that covered them completely by that point.

 

 When Stiles locked his legs around Derek’s waist, he let out a low groan, the kind that was tinged with discomfort that wasn’t quite pain.

 

 “Sore?” Derek whispered and Stiles let his head thud against the carpet.

 

 “Mmm,” Stiles confirmed, carding his fingers through Derek’s sheet-tousled hair so it stuck up even more. Derek laughed, a real bunny-teeth, sparkle-eyed laugh and Stiles thought their own brand of romance was pretty good. Messed up, silly, inexperienced and utter chaos. Perfect.

 

 “Love you,” Derek murmured, smoothing Stiles’s own wayward hair back from his forehead with careful strokes of his fingertips. He could treat Stiles like he was precious one moment, fuck him until he was dizzy with the intensity or roll around on the floor with him like they were a couple of kids. Stiles couldn’t think of anyone more perfect for him to drive to distraction.

 

 When their lips were kiss-bruised and stubble-burned, they gave themselves a cursory clean up with the suspiciously new packet of wet wipes in Derek’s bedside drawer, then found themselves sprawled out on the carpet. They were still awkwardly tangled together, Derek pinning Stiles’s busy feet down with his own.

 

 “I drive you crazy, don’t I?” Stiles mused, pushing himself up on his elbow to look down at Derek’s serene expression.

 

 Derek’s lips parted, but whatever he was about to say died on his tongue as his brow furrowed and he sniffed. Stiles blinked. Laura and Derek’s bedrooms were both soundproofed but despite their best efforts sometimes scents snuck through. Apparently he’d picked one up now. Not quick enough to allow them to get into any position of decency before the bedroom door opened and Peter appeared in the doorway.

 

 “Sorry,” Peter said with that little smile that said he most definitely was not in the least apologetic. “Did I interrupt something?”

 

 The sound of voices in the living room behind Peter made Stiles frown. Derek sat bolt upright beside him, the sheet only just preserving what little modesty they still had. He either recognised the voices or had heard something of the conversation that put him on edge. Perhaps both.

 

 “Yes,” Peter said in that light tone of his, cocking his head slightly. “We have company, boys, so do put on some clothes and join us, hmm?” He turned, making to leave, hand wrapped around the door handle and Derek grumbled under his breath, throwing the sheet off and snatching up his clothes. Stiles clung to the sheet as he rose to his feet, a little unsteady with the soreness in his body. Peter watched him as if he knew exactly where he was feeling the activities of the last few hours, despite the fact that the apartment had been entirely empty when Stiles had arrived earlier.

 

 Werewolves, he supposed. Or even just common sense, judging by their appearance.

 

 Stiles lifted his chin in defiance of his embarrassment. “Invited someone for dinner, Peter?”

 

 Peter’s devious little smile still clung on at the corners. “Not me,” he said, “Laura.” With that, he strode back in the living room, making sure to leave the door open on his way out. He’d done it partially just to be a dick, because Stiles then had to awkwardly shuffle forward wearing only a sheet to close the door. He’d also done it so that when Stiles did, he got a good look at the guest Laura had invited in.

 

 “Holy shit!” Stiles gasped, back pressed against the door as he closed it. He stared wild-eyed at Derek, who was scowling as he fastened his belt. “Chris Argent? What the hell did Laura invite him for?”

 

 Derek said nothing, only glared at his own shirt as if it were to blame for all the world’s problems before pulling it on. His brooding silence was telling to one as experienced with it as Stiles.

 

 “Hey,” he said gently, approaching Derek, who definitely had an inkling of what Chris Argent’s purpose was here and was practically _radiating_ dislike for whatever it was. Stiles kept hold of the sheet with one hand and squeezed Derek’s shoulder with the other when he saw his jaw set. When he turned his glare to Stiles though, after a moment, the ferocity of it softened, just a little.

 

 It was the tell he had, the sign that he couldn’t quite put up his walls as efficiently anymore, that he didn’t really want to, not with Stiles.

 

 “Hey,” Stiles said again, smoothing Derek’s dishevelled hair down in a way he hoped was soothing rather than mothering. “Whatever it is, I’ve got your back, okay?” His hand slid down to Derek’s jaw and after a beat, Derek’s hand covered it, holding it there briefly. Those complicated eyes closed and Derek just breathed, kept him there, close, touching just like that. When they opened again, they seemed clearer, if a bit resigned.

 

 “Laura, want... _wants_ to…” His lips moved soundlessly as his mind struggled for the right word. “Ally Argent?” he ventured.

 

 Stiles blinked. “Like…she wants to make an alliance with him?”

 Derek nodded, evidently displeased by the idea. Clearly it was something Laura had mentioned to Derek beforehand, if Stiles had read the situation right. He got why Laura might want to try something like that. He got why Derek might be against it to. He didn’t get what he was meant to say in a situation like this, however, so in the end, after standing there at a loss, he let the sheet fall to pool around his feet.

 

 “I’ll go out there like this if it’ll help?” he offered with a grin.

 

 Derek looked simultaneously surprised, amused and confused all at once, all under a scowl that was slipping a little at the sight of Stiles’s brazen ridiculousness. And nudity.

 

 “How will…that help?” Derek asked hesitantly.

 

 Stiles shrugged. “Well, it’d provide a distraction at least.”

 

 Derek just stared at him for a long time before shaking his head in fond exasperation.

 


	8. Ashes and Bridges

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really agonised over this last chapter. I have had it 'finished' for about two weeks but I've gone back and picked at it so many times (because I wasn't sure I was happy with it) that I'm not even sure anymore - haha! I think I'm mostly pleased. I always wanted this to be a story that touched on some difficult issues, some struggles both emotional and physical and yet never got too angsty (as my stories are wont to do). I think this ending achieves that, with a lot of fluff on top :) I hope you guys enjoy it at least.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who read/commented/left kudos, it's really helped build my confidence in this fandom that I was afraid I'd starting writing for too late. I'm working on another Sterek piece that should be up in a month or so, inspired by a beautiful piece of art on Tumblr so...watch this space and thanks again!

**Chapter Eight**

**_Ashes and Bridges_ **

 

 

 

 The Jeep gave a rumbling purr as he let it amble over the softly undulating terrain of the woods. He had to admit, in spite of his initial protests, the Jeep had run like a dream ever since its last trip to the shop and yeah, it was a totally inappropriate gesture on Derek’s part but well…it wouldn’t make much difference now if he enjoyed the results. Derek was a lot better at sizing down those grand gestures anyway, mostly. He’d learned that Stiles was pretty much helpless when it came to grand gestures of _food_. His dad too. Stiles was doomed.

 

 The suspension rolled gently as he weaved through the trees. Everything was warm with summer sunlight, loud with birdsong and a slight breeze caught him through the open window as he turned along the curve of the dirt track. As the trees started to thin and the land started to incline subtly, signalling he was drawing close, he heard a howl, a call that made Stiles whip his head to the side just in time to see a black wolf barrelling through the trees to run alongside him. Stiles revved the engine and put his foot down a little more on the gas. He knew this track like the back of his hand now, more than well enough to play a bit.

 

 The Jeep roared forward eagerly and instead of going straight up the hill Stiles took the long route round, beaming when he glanced out the window to see the wolf keeping up, more than that really, starting to pull ahead. He dipped in closer, mock biting at the wing mirror or the arm Stiles had resting along the open window before darting back out again.

 

 Stiles laughed. “Hey, you think we’re easy prey, huh?”

 

 The wolf gave a rumbling bark of a growl and nipped at the wing mirror again. Stiles pressed harder on the accelerator, a devious smile on his face. “Race ya!” he called out over the roar of the engine as he sped forward. Dirt and leaves sprayed out from the wheels, just catching the wolf, who gave chase with another howl. Stiles raced around the track that followed the perimeter of the estate, through the trees, the wolf dipping in and out of sight, always reappearing with an almost victorious snarl that only made Stiles rev the engine harder and laugh freely.

 

 When they circled back round to the hillside again, the wolf leapt straight onto the roof and over, making Stiles jump, before flying over the hill and out of sight. “Cheater!” Stiles shouted out, _knowing_ Derek could hear him. He wondered if he could borrow Scott’s motorbike next time he was back in town. He was pretty sure it’d be nippier than the Jeep. He was also sure it’d be a toss-up between who’d put up more of a protest at Stiles being allowed to ride it, Derek or his dad.

 

 With the warm, humming aftermath of laughter still buzzing in his chest, the woods looked nothing like they had that night the hunters had chased him and Derek in the Camaro. In fact, as the Jeep reached the top of the shallow hill and the trees thinned, as he caught sight of Hale House, he thought that night was like some distant bad dream.

 

 The house wasn’t exactly finished, but the shell and the basics mostly were. He slowed the Jeep, letting it roll down the sloping drive toward the building. It was the exact same shape and design as the old structure, yet looked nothing like the house Stiles had seen in the photos or newspaper clippings Laura had rescued from the family vault, the scarce dregs of their family history that were scattered throughout the apartment.

 

 Instead of a wooden painted exterior, it was now wrapped in stunning golden wood that Laura had told him would go grey with time to be more sympathetic to the surrounding wilderness and roof tiles. The windows were larger, more modern but there was the same footprint and sprawling porch. It was a beautiful tribute to the Hale family, the lives they made here and yet different enough to not be startling in its similarity, to not be a cheap copy.

 

 Stiles’s eyes were drawn to the vibrant flowerbeds lining the porch, nurtured from the soil, the ashes of the old house by Derek, who, to his utter shock and fondness, had always had a quiet interest and knowledge of horticulture. There was a rugged scaffolding of sorts along the left hand side of the house, enough for durable and spry werewolves at least and this was where he could see Laura, her hair tied back in a scruffy bun wielding a nail gun and ear protection as she worked to secure the last of the golden wood panelling in place.

 

 As he parked the Jeep out front and climbed out, Stiles caught sight of Peter approaching with an impossibly long wooden panel braced over his shoulder as if it weighed nothing more than a feather pillow. He was wearing only dark jeans, face and bare chest smudged with dirt and sweat and he gave Stiles a devious, winning smile as he stopped beside him.

 

 “Grab the last one for me, Stiles?” he asked, gesturing with his chin to the last plank resting behind him on the grass. Peter was…odd, to say the least. Stiles still maintained he was more like Laura and Derek’s annoying brother than an uncle. He displayed no sense of responsibility, only a dangerous playfulness, like a naughty but wily cat that would play with the mouse but always with a risk it would bite. He particularly enjoyed taunting Derek and by extension Stiles. Today he seemed content to make Stiles uncomfortable with his brazen state of undress and display of muscle tone, which he’d managed to work back after years stuck in a hospital bed or chair when he wasn’t at Gerard’s mercy.

 

 Derek fell for the teasing every time but Stiles handled it a bit better. It was hard to be more irritating than him, after all. He beamed at Peter. “Nah, I’ll let you handle it Peter, need to keep in shape, huh?” Even if it was obvious to anyone with _eyes_ that Peter was doing incredibly well after all he’d endured, even for a werewolf, to be standing there, looking like that and taunting Stiles like he hadn’t a care in the world. Sometimes Stiles wondered at how he was coping, at how he dealt with his more difficult days, but he was never far from Laura’s side or her support so he wasn’t alone. He was struggling more than Stiles saw, he was certain, but he wasn’t alone.

 

 He spent nearly every waking moment on the rebuilding of the house. Derek and Laura dedicated a lot of time to it as well, but Stiles thought there wasn’t a part of the building, not a scrap of wood or concrete or brick that hadn’t been touched by him. He took delight in ordering around the contractors that they hired in for professional jobs and, when left to it, seemed to focus on the build with a kind of serenity, as if it were a therapy thing more than the need to rebuild their family home.  As Stiles watched, Laura cocked her head at her uncle’s approach, regarding him with a warm, proud expression. Yes, that was exactly what it was – therapy. All of it, for all of them in some way or another. Something productive to chase away the years of bitterness, powerlessness and sorrow.

 

 Swallowing the little lump forming in his throat, Stiles called out. “Did you see Derek run by?”

 

 Laura laughed. “This is no time to be playing tag. They’ll be here soon!”

 

 Stiles thought it was rich, really, coming from the woman covered in sawdust and sweat from a day’s work, but he supposed Laura knew what she was doing. “I brought pie!” He said, as if that absolved him from all sins, waving the bakery box around illustratively. To his amusement, Peter halted in passing the next panel up to raise his brows in interest. Stiles smirked.

 

 “That’s for after lunch,” Laura said, more to Peter than anyone.

 

 “Hoping it’ll sweeten up your ‘guests’?” Peter offered, clearly feeling mulish over the temptation denied. He passed up the wood carefully nonetheless. “You’re so infuriatingly like your mother.” It was muttered under his breath, in a way that wasn’t really meant to be concealed, or meant as a jibe, Stiles thought. Laura smiled and cocked the nail gun with a twitch of her brows.

 

 Stiles edged away before Peter could pick up a saw, not sure he was ready for the trauma of that sight, and made his way up the brand new steps that Derek and Peter had only finished the other day.

 

 “Honey, I’m home,” he called jovially as he stepped inside, shutting the front door behind him and wiping his feet on the mat. No one lived here yet, but it wouldn’t be long. It looked like Derek had pretty much finished painting the downstairs after Stiles had left him to it for his shift at work that morning. The windows were all open but the smell of duck-egg green paint was still fresh.

 

 He’d only seen the ruined interior of the old Hale residence but Stiles thought that this was it reborn in all its grandeur. There was a chandelier hanging in the centre of the entrance hall, right at the bottom of the stairs where a freshly varnished wooden staircase had been reconstructed in its predecessor’s image.

 

 Stiles was initially a bit dubious about how rebuilding their family home might affect them, but with every inch above ground the structure grew, every lick of paint, it seemed to lift a little more of the weight from their shoulders. Maybe living together in the place their family had chosen would be the foundations they needed to finally move forward. He couldn’t deny its effects so far.

 

 It was right here that he and Derek had watched Laura and Peter lay out the foundations with the contractors. It was also here that Derek had grudgingly admitted he’d try to speak to the speech therapist Laura had found. He thought it took something pretty special to help Derek take such a momentous step.

 

 Movement from the top of the stairs caught his vision, drawing him from his reverie and he looked up to see Derek there. He’d obviously just stepped out of the shower because his hair was damp and his t-shirt clung to his brusquely dried skin. His bare feet gripped the floor and Stiles only blinked before he was leaping completely over the stairs and landing neatly in front of Stiles.

 

 There was a snarl from outside, Laura admonishing Derek for wear on the floor, no doubt.

 

 Stiles smirked. “It was a good call of Peter’s to reinforce the floors then.”

 

 “Save the stairs,” Derek shrugged, reaching out and cupping the back of Stiles’s neck, drawing him close so he could brush the corner of his mouth against Stiles’s. Stiles hummed, dragging his fingers against Derek’s hair, soft and damp. The more Derek regained of his speech, the more Stiles realised what a sarcastic little shit he was. They really were perfect for each other. As he twisted his mouth to capture Derek’s in a proper kiss, he felt the pie box tugged from his hand and gave a squawk of indignation as Derek moved to the kitchen.

 

 “You eat that, Laura will kill you!” Stiles called out, careful not to touch the freshly painted walls as he shot after Derek. He skidded on the wooden floor in the kitchen so that only Derek’s fast reflexes, his arm across Stiles’s chest stopped him from slamming right into the kitchen island.

 

 “Whoa!” Stiles exhaled, steadying himself on Derek’s shoulder and waiting for his heart, which had leapt at the threat of a fall, to calm itself.

 

 Derek set the pie carefully on the island and turned to him with a raised brow. “How many coffee you have?” he asked wryly.

 

 “How many coffees have I had? A few. The normal amount. I may or may not have been subjected to a farewell treat, as thanks for all my hard work over the years, in the shape of six months worth of vouchers though.”

 

 Derek groaned, making his way over to the refrigerator and pulling out a bottle of water. The kitchen was pretty much finished aside from a lick of paint, the curtains and the utensils and appliances (aside from the refrigerator) but otherwise it was a pretty high-range, modern family kitchen. To Stiles’s knowledge, it was the only room in the house that was completed this far, except for the upstairs family bathroom and the hall. He thought it all set the precedence for the quality of the home the Hales were building for themselves.

 

 Derek tipped his head back as he swallowed, his throat undulating with each gulp of water. A streak of moisture slid down his face from his wet hair, following the line of his neck and down to the hollow along with Stiles’s eyes. He started a little when he realised Derek had caught him staring.

 

 “Are…you okay?” Derek asked hesitantly.

 

 “Huh? Oh, yeah, just ogling you,” he admitted, smirking when a slow smile spread across Derek’s face. He set the half empty bottle of water down and stalked toward Stiles, hooking his fingers in the waistband of his jeans and tugging him closer. Stiles gave a little laugh, going with it easily and revelling in the confidence Derek just seemed to exude now. “You have paint behind your ear,” Stiles murmured, voice husky like he was saying something much filthier.

 

 Derek gave a sly, seductive look that tugged low down in Stiles’s belly, then claimed his lips with such savagery that it startled Stiles into an open-mouthed groan.

 

 Sometimes Derek was that soft, gentle creature that liked to curl against Stiles’s back at night, the man whose ears had gone pink when Noah had tried to give them ‘the talk’. But sometimes he was this hungry, possessive thing, the one that liked to tug Stiles’s hair, just a little. Stiles thought he liked both just fine. Especially right then, with Derek’s blunt human nails scraping at his back through his t-shirt, Derek’s mouth claiming his with bruising, breathless kisses.

 

 “Mmm,” Stiles moaned in soft agreement, gripping at Derek’s neck. He liked soft Derek, and hungry Derek, the Derek that just surrendered to him and the one that just last night had pretty much rewritten the definition of ‘topping from the bottom’ when Stiles had been inside him but Derek had definitely not submitted. This one felt tense though, like he was worked up about something and so it was with great reluctance that Stiles drew back enough to consider his flushed expression.

 

 It took Stiles a moment to find his voice and when he did it was rough with heat. “Nervous about the meeting?” He let his fingertips trace over Derek’s mouth as his mind raced, frantically searching for all the reasons why he shouldn’t be kissing it right then instead of talking.

 

 Derek exhaled heavily. It was a huff really, but he didn’t pull away. It was always like this now, things that were difficult to put words a little easier to discuss when they were this close. Everything said there was an intimate secret no one could judge or interfere with.

 

 “I Laura’s second,” he said haltingly, “How? Can even not…” He set his jaw, nostrils flaring with annoyance. “Not even say when I need to.” His hands were moving now, slow and restless but ever gentle, up and down Stiles’s back as if the touch calmed him somehow. He finally averted his gaze when he said, “should be Peter. Not me.”

 

 Stiles frowned. “Hey.” His hands slid down just above Derek’s elbows, squeezing gently. Derek looked back to him at the contact, at the soft coercion in his voice like he couldn’t help it, like Stiles could alleviate the anxiety. Somehow, Stiles had come to realise he usually did, through not doing very much at all, just in little moments like this.

 

 Pushing himself up to sit on the counter top, Stiles pulled Derek between his thighs, holding him there with his knees and letting Derek further ground himself by splaying his strong fingers over Stiles’s denim clad thighs. Stiles didn’t speak until Derek looked him right in the eyes. “You think Peter isn’t fucked up by what happened to him?” Stiles asked. “He’s doing well now, but he’s not… _cured_ or whatever. He was feral, Derek and he’s got his own struggles.”

 

 “He can talk,” Derek argued, his irritation with himself evident in his tension. He looked like he wanted to pull back from Stiles and didn’t at the same time. “He did… _not_ lose words. Still…speaks good. Better than me.”

 

 “Peter’s articulacy does not automatically equate his suitability for the job,” Stiles argued, wondering if Derek had forgotten how much support Peter still needed, or if he really just thought so little of himself. He’d had a difficult session with the speech therapist the other day, his first time actually going into the office rather than just using the web conference, and it’d thrown him for a loop. He usually was quite self-effacing after the setbacks recovery was known for and Stiles and Laura had learned to help him cope with them as much as possible.

 

 “You’ve come so far, Derek. When I first met you, you were hard-pushed to string a full sentence together, now look at you.”

 

 Derek sighed. “Not enough. I… Laura needs…” His lips rubbed together as he contemplated his vocabulary repertoire. “Diplomacy I can’t give.” he managed at last, and Stiles couldn’t help but feel a pang of pride at that.

 

 “You listen to me, Derek Hale,” came a voice from behind them. Both Stiles and Derek looked round to see Laura approaching them, sweaty and dishevelled from hard work but no less the alpha for it. She fixed her eyes on her brother with unyielding focus. “You’ve been by my side this whole time, alright? You know me better than I know myself, you’re my brother and you’re whip smart and there’s no one else I’d want at my back. I chose you, not Peter, because you’re the best man for the job. Do I need to drill it into your head to make you understand?”

 

 Derek’s mouth opened but when his tight expression betrayed that he was about to argue, Laura gave a little snarl and flicked her brother right between the eyes. Derek scowled at her.

 

 “You were always the clever one, when we were kids,” Laura said exasperatedly, “don’t be stupid now. This is important, so I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think you could do it. I have faith in you.”

 

 Stiles thought Derek looked taken aback at that, stunned by his sister’s confidence in him, his alpha’s trust. For a moment it seemed he had no words at all. He stared at Laura, as if he’d just won some unanticipated grand prize.

 

 “You think I can?” Derek asked cautiously.

 

 Laura’s entire demeanour softened. She thumped her brother’s shoulder gently. “I _know_ you can,” she assured him, giving his shoulder a little squeeze before turning back toward the hall, probably for a quick shower before the ‘guests’ arrived. “And Stiles, get your cute little butt off the food preparation area,” she called without even looking back.

 

 Stiles hopped off immediately, momentarily abashed but also secretly pleased at Laura’s sister-like nagging. He’d always wanted siblings, he supposed.

 

 “ _So_ ,” he began, snatching up Derek’s water bottle and sipping at the rest. “You were like…a geek in school or something?”

 Derek huffed. “I did basketball.”

 

 Stiles waggled his eyebrows. “You were like, a smart jock or something? Were you a math nerd?”

 

 Derek glared but after a moment admitted, “Science.”

 

 Stiles let out a gleeful laugh. “Oh my God, an athlete and a science nerd, I think I’m in love.”

 

 Derek rolled his eyes but he looked secretly pleased. He glanced at the doorway that Laura had vanished through, clearly contemplating something before he risked a glance back to Stiles. “Stay?” he asked, Stiles’s shy boy again, standing in front of him like an uncertain, endearing teenager. When Stiles just stared at him he tried again. “Will you stay? With me for meeting?” The last was added as a quick afterthought, as if he almost hadn’t wanted to say it.

 

 Stiles grinned. “You want me to be your wingman?”

 

 Derek hesitated. “Partner.”

 

 If Stiles had smiled any wider, his face might’ve cracked.

 

*

 

 While Laura and Peter cleaned up, Stiles made himself busy by arranging the pie and some cutlery around the kitchen table, which proved only to enhance the torture of waiting because…well forbidden pie. He didn’t even realise he was drumming his fingers against the tabletop until Derek reached out and covered them with his own.

 

 Not long after, when Laura and Peter were at the table with them, Stiles saw all three Hales tense and knew their ‘guests’ had arrived long before he himself heard the sounds of a car approaching the house, or a knock on the door.

 

 Stiles hadn’t seen much of Chris Argent himself but as he understood it, he’d been working closely with Laura and even his dad. When he walked into the kitchen ahead of the other guests, after being greeted by Laura, he gave Stiles an odd, wistful look, before inclining his head respectfully. Stiles couldn’t help but watch him as the pleasantries and introductions began. Argent looked different somehow. His facial hair was unkempt and his composure weary from the long journey, but for all that he looked…stronger. Like the removal of the weight of his father’s oppression, the way he handled werewolves and god knew what other supernatural beings, had freed him.

 

 Stiles couldn’t say he trusted him, he was still the creeper who stalked him at work and made Derek’s body shift with wariness, like a beast prepared to bite if. But well, that’s what this meeting was partially about, he supposed. Burning old bridges and forging new ones.

 

 The other hunters were from one long-established family in Mexico and another from London, all shaking Laura’s hand politely enough as Chris introduced them, while keeping a careful distance. All except for the male London hunter, Benedict Spencer-White, who gave Laura a warm smile when Chris said his name and urged her to please call him ‘Ben’.

 

 Stiles smirked when Laura glanced his way as they all settled round the table. He wondered if he was the only one that noticed the subtle immediate chemistry. If the way both Peter and Derek straightened in their seats was any indication, he thought not.

 

 “Christopher has liaised with us for months regarding your…situation,” Araya, from the long-established Calavera hunter family said, in a tone of careful diplomacy and suspicion. The Spencer-White siblings were mostly unreadable, difficult to gauge, Ben’s initial appreciation of Laura notwithstanding, but Araya Calavera and her second Severo, they made no secret of their distrust of the proposed alliance.

 

 Stiles was a little afraid any moment she would withdraw some concealed weapon and start shooting. Maybe this showed somehow in his body language, because Araya seemed to make a point of looking over him and Derek every now and then.

 

 “We are to understand that unlike Gerard Argent, your families both follow the code with a religious dedication,” Laura said carefully, “You only hunt those who hunt humans. You don’t hurt humans or children – you don’t take issue with innocent werewolves.”

 

 “Make no mistake, Alpha Hale, we do not condone your kind, you are abominations,” Araya said curtly, “but it is as you say, we take care to only correct _beasts_ who allow their nature to get the better of them. A child cannot help what it is born and perhaps there is a respect to be awarded to those who strive to be better than the blood they are born with.”

 

 There was a cool steadfast belief to her words. Stiles thought though she probably meant them as a compliment to the Hales, it was at the very least a backhanded one at best. Beside Stiles, Derek tensed and Stiles reached out to squeeze his thigh under the table subtly. He met Derek’s eyes briefly, reassuringly but when he glanced back, Araya Calavera was staring at them again. Did she wonder what a human was doing in a relationship with a werewolf, perhaps?

 

 “You are offended, _Beta_ Hale?”

 

 Derek’s nostrils flared. “Yes,” he said curtly, “like I offend, seems.” As readily as I offend you, Stiles knew he meant. Derek added bitterly, “nice, to hear my family not offend enough to die.”

 

 Severo’s mouth twisted in a worrying smile. “I thought the latest generation of Hale were born and _bred_ in California. Educated here.” The emphasis on the word bred was definitely a dog quip, Stiles knew it, they all did, but he really hoped he was misinterpreting the other meaning behind Severo’s words.

 

 “We are,” Laura said carefully.

 

 Severo’s smirk turned ugly. “Your friend, he speaks worse English than my five-year-old-nephew.”

 

 Derek’s muscles tensed, bunched as if to move and Stiles felt rage flare in his chest as visible, no doubt as the flush of fury on Peter and Laura’s faces.

 

 “If you want respect from us then you’ll speak with respect to my brother,” Laura said darkly, diplomatic as possible. “We speak of an alliance, a partnership, not of the kind of relationship Gerard Argent wanted to have with us. Or are you not above his bigotry?”

 

 A long silence fell, heavy with tension. Stiles could see Chris Argent struggling to deduce the best way to settle it, to salvage the truce that was looking less and less likely by the moment.

 

 For Stiles’s part, he was thinking they’d be lucky to get out of here without blood being spilled.

 

 “We are not Gerard Argent,” Margaret Spencer-White said softly, the first time she’d spoken since the introductions. Stiles had never seen someone quite like her, an older, demure yet beautiful woman who seemed to observe, calculate everything before so much as twitching a finger. It was a fine contrast to the rough exterior of the Calaveras, who hadn’t stopped eying him up like they were mercenaries. And yet Stiles found her more unnerving than Araya, who for all her faults, seemed honest at least. Margaret, seemed ruthless in her silence and all the more dangerous for her softness.

 

 “You must understand our position,” Margaret continued. “Our families have not survived this long by trusting that which we hunt. But Christopher Argent has earned our respect from working with us over the years, by putting the code before even his father and sister. He has pleaded your case well.”

 

 Chris leaned forward, elbows on the table, hands folding together on the wood in a clear display of trust, of relaxation. He’d been in this house many times now, to meet with Laura so his comfort was genuine but no less for show. “It’s hard to set aside old prejudices,” Chris said, to all, it seemed. “But everyone here wants that, knows that there are still people like my father out there that disregard the code, on both sides. We’re here to ensure we’re ready to face them when they act.”

 

 “Sort of like a new code,” Stiles said before he could stop himself. It was clear by both Araya and Margaret’s expressions that this was the wrong this to say.

 

 “A partnership of the two,” Laura said hastily, “co-existing together to make the both of them stronger.” She considered each of the four hunters at the table before meeting Chris Argent’s gaze.

 

 “But you want something from us,” Margaret said carefully, long fingers folded together under her chin. “Not the other way around. So what we need to know is what a broken pack of three wolves and a human boy can offer.”

 

 Stiles stiffened. “Two human _men_ ,” he countered before he could curb his tongue. Staying quiet or being cowed never was his forte. “My dad is the sheriff here. He’s been keeping the supernatural secret for years. Without him it’d probably have been exposed the second Kate Argent went commando on a house full of _people_ , including children.”

 

 Chris Argent sat back in his chair as if simultaneously irritated and proud of Stiles’s outburst.

 

 The other hunters were a little more difficult to read. Araya, however, gave a little smirk of amusement.

 

 “You know,” Derek addressed the hunters statically, by way of answering Margaret Spencer-White, “who…our mother was.”

 

 “Every hunter and wolf alike knows who Talia Hale was,” Ben said with reverence. “She commanded respect through her actions, her respect for all life and the nature of things.”

 

 Derek dipped his chin in a way that Stiles thought was a tell that he was gathering himself, if you knew him well enough to notice. “Would have ask Talia Hale what she want from you? Good alpha, she was, but just want to raise her family. Her kids.” Derek looked hard at Araya and Margaret. “Us.”

 

 Laura gave a minute but steadfast nod, a show of agreement and solidarity. Peter, who was sitting on her other side, leaned forward.

 

 “My sister wanted to live in peace, so do we. That’s all we want, whether you believe it or not.”

 

 The Calaveras and the Spencer-Whites seemed to be almost as standoffish with each other as they were with the Hales, yet shared a silent look between them at this. More than once Severo’s gaze wandered over Stiles and the Hales, like a bodyguard waiting for an assault and Stiles couldn’t help it, he winked at him. Severo sneered but said nothing.

 

 “We had plenty of time to talk on our journey here,” Araya said at last, breaking the tense silence which Stiles thought might’ve been just to make the Hales sweat more than anything.

 

 Margaret nodded in agreement. “Assuming we can forge an alliance that has not been achieved between hunters and wolves before, assuming we take that risk, you would have to forgo your rights to grow your pack through any means other than breeding.”

 

 Beside Stiles, Derek shifted at the almost derogatory use of that last word. Severo gave him an ugly, pointed look, in which Stiles thought was meant to make everyone aware who wasn’t that Stiles and Derek were together and there would definitely be no breeding there. Stiles didn’t remove his hand from Derek’s thigh though and Derek didn’t shift away from their casually intimate proximity. Derek did glare though, his best thick-browed _sourwolf_ glare.

 

  _If looks could kill,_ Stiles thought.

 

 “You want me to swear I won’t bite anyone,” Laura stated plainly with no question or inflection in her voice at all, as if she were repeating it for the pure absurdity of the statement, as if she couldn’t quite believe it. A little furrow appeared between her brows but her façade remained otherwise untouched. “Like my mother, I would only offer the bite to someone who wanted it. Hales do not make a point of going round and hunting children and innocents like something out of a fairytale.”

 

 “Even if it were Talia Hale sitting in front of us, asking for this union, we would stipulate this condition of our loyalty,” Araya said with a tone that was unyielding and yet, Stiles thought, not biting or cruel. He frowned as he considered the entire situation from her point of view. She didn’t so much as blink as she held Laura’s gaze. “Many wolves claim to bite only those that want it, we have found many more who bite and bully the unwilling than truly offer it.”

 

 Not unreasonable, he supposed. Not right, but not unreasonable. He glanced between Derek and Laura and, oddly enough, it was Peter who cocked his head at him, as if he could _hear_ where his thoughts were leading.

 

 “So…what if, when Laura had a bite candidate or whatever, they bring them to you first?” Stiles suggested. “You could see for yourself that they want the bite and when you can see they’re willing and not bullied into it, Laura could bite them?”

 

 Everyone looked at him as if surprised by his reasonable tone. Stiles tried not to be insulted by that.

 

 “You’d trust us to make that judgement fairly?” Ben asked, but Stiles thought he was making a point of saying it, to make his fellow hunters realise what an act of trust that would be, rather than clarify it for himself.

 

 Laura hesitated, though did not look round at any of her pack for reassurance. “It’d be easier if we could take any candidates to the Calavera’s household, since the journey is easier, but yes, we would trust you to make fair judgement,” she said, taking the opening both Stiles and Ben had given her. “We have to trust each other for this to work and if that is what you need of us to earn your blessing on continuing to expand our pack, for you to offer your trust in return, then we will give you that.”

 

 Severo winced. “I do not believe there is such a thing as a human who would want the bite, not without being pressured by a beast or backed into a corner.”

 

 “Now then, that’s just because you’ve only seen the worst of our kind, as I have mostly seen the worst of yours,” Peter said lightly with that charmingly dangerous smile of his. “Do you not trust your leader to be able to tell the difference between coercion and willingness?”

 

 Araya gave a little amused grunt of laughter, while everyone else fell silent.

 

 Both families seemed to consider the offer, the display of trust Laura was offering, but it was Margaret who spoke first. “We will agree on a figure,” she said carefully. “If you are to die or otherwise pass on your position as alpha, we can renegotiate with that new alpha, but for you, Laura Hale, we want an agreed number of maximum humans you would turn.”

 

 “There is… _are_ none in a list,” Derek said, “no in mind. And not plan an _army_ –”

 

 “Not even your misguided boyfriend?” Severo asked gruffly.

 

 An almost subvocal growl rumbled in Derek’s throat. He didn’t like people, or at least potential threats looking at Stiles, it was obvious. Stiles squeezed his thigh a little more firmly, then hooked his ankle around Derek’s under the table, rocking Derek’s trapped foot gently. The inane, immature but sweet gesture made Derek relax back into his chair without actually relaxing.

 

 “If he want, would be his. But he not,” he said through audibly clenched teeth. “Stiles, his dad, they want stay human. They pack either way.”

 

 Severo snorted. “Big of you, wolfman.”

 

 “Even so,” Margaret cut across the bickering, “we want a number. If you aren’t building an army and you don’t have any in mind anyway, aren’t looking to become the next biggest supernatural force in the United States, then it shouldn’t matter.”

 

 It was the principal of it, and the negotiating of it too, Stiles supposed. They wanted to check Laura’s sincerity but also how far they could push her.

 

 Laura, for her part, swept a stray strand that had escaped her professionally clipped up hair behind her ear and seemed to strive for an air of inconvenienced but not too infuriated confidence. “Very well,” she said simply, “I want eleven.”

 

 It was such a specific number. Stiles blinked. Why eleven? He looked down the table out of his peripheral vision but both Derek and Peter were staring straight at their guests.

 

 The hunters murmured to each other. The Hales could obviously hear what was being whispered but Stiles just frowned at them as he awaited the counter-offer, because there was going to be one, he was certain of that. This was a negotiation after all – and a pissing contest.

 

 “Five,” Araya said.

 

 “Eleven,” Derek countered easily.

 

 “Your boy taught you to count passed your fingers then, huh?” Severo chuckled darkly.

 

 Derek rolled his eyes and kept his tone remarkably calm. “Eleven,” he repeated, disregarding Severo’s sniping remark. “One for all piece of our family kill by Kate.”

 

 Stiles felt his stomach churn. He remembered now the little Derek had been able to tell him about the fire. Shit, that was why the specific number. Perhaps Laura, Peter and Derek had anticipated the conversation and had discussed it beforehand, or perhaps it was just sense to them. Stiles knew they’d lost their entire family in that fire, wolves, humans and children of both species but to have the number said aloud like that was jarring, it made what was happening there seem even more important.

 

 After a long silence, Ben said respectfully, “it’s more than a fair request.” Unlike Severo, who was Araya’s second, Ben was his sister’s equal, her partner, even if he was softer spoken. Stiles couldn’t help but like him a bit, respect him for his silent calculation in a different way to how he respected Araya Calavera. Even if he did let his gaze linger on Laura longer than anyone else on Stiles’s side of the table. Still, his admiration of her and apparent sensitivity to the loss of their family didn’t stop him from doing his job.

 

 “There would have to be regular contact between all three of our parties, updates on both hunter and supernatural activity in our respective areas,” Ben suggested. “We would have to aid each other in either of those situations.”

 

 At this, Stiles felt Derek bristle.

 

 “You want us be guard dog.”

 

 Ben tilted his head with a polite smile. “In a sense. But we will be yours also.”

 

 Severo and Margaret murmured their disapproval at his choice of words but didn’t disagree.

 

 “It’s an equal partnership,” Chris Argent said carefully, speaking for the first time in what felt like an eternity, “you know there are others like my father out there. Both the Calaveras and the Spencer-White families would support you and any of yours against anything like him again.”

 

 “You would side with us against hunters?” Peter asked.

 

 Araya studied him guardedly. “If you would side with us against wolves and other beasts.”

 

 “Us and others,” Derek said.

 

 Margaret levelled him an impatient glare. “Yes, as we have just said. Any supernaturals we come across.”

 

 Derek shook his head, to his credit only betraying mild discomfort as he stumbled over the clearest way to phrase what he meant. Stiles dragged his foot along the length of Derek’s and though he kept his focus on the hunters across the table, his mouth quirked at the corner when Derek answered his offer of comfort by reciprocating, nudging Stiles’s calf with his own.

 

 Derek’s jaw did tighten and though he didn’t allow his lips to move in silent search through his vocabulary as he did with Stiles, he did seem to feel the discomfort at the awkward silence, at the pressure of unfamiliar and potentially unfriendly faces scrutinising his struggles.

 

 Laura tensed but then Derek’s face twisted a little and he merely muttered, “sorry…one moment.” It was one of their phrases they’d practiced for when Derek interacted with people who didn’t know his situation, but it just felt odd to hear Derek use it here, in the face of people who Derek perceived as a threat, with the same polite if frustrated tone he used when he struggled to order lunch. He hadn’t let the situation get to him, alter his ability to cope and for that, Stiles thought he was more proud of him than he would’ve been if Derek had managed to speak without a single hesitation.

 

 “Other wolves,” Derek said eventually. “That need. If they come. If Gerards go after them. If they need us. You help too.”

 

 Margaret winced. “We are not going to start a war against hunters for werewolves.”

 

 “It’s not about hunters versus wolves,” Laura said, every bit the alpha then. “It’s about uniting to protect the innocent, whatever their species.”

 

 “Werewolves and hunters together, respecting their own codes but also forging a new one together,” Chris Argent agreed. “We protect those who cannot defend themselves.”

 

 A profound stillness overcame all at the table. Even Stiles didn’t even twitch. He swore his breath was held captive in his lungs, tense, unwilling to disturb the air of the room with its release, lest it affect the way the hunters reacted to the proposal. It was out there now, as plain as it could be. The hunters may want to make certain conditions, as might Laura, but the primary objective had been voiced. It was what Laura wanted, what the Hales (perhaps all wolves) needed, even if Derek and Peter were dubious. The hunters just had to realise how much they needed it too.

 

 When the silence became stifling, Stiles felt every inch of him humming with nervous energy and the need to release it. His dad would’ve been proud, he thought wryly.

 

 Eventually, Araya reached forward and for the first time acknowledged the coffee and slice of pie in front of her. She sipped from her coffee before picking up her fork. The way his side of the table seemed to deflate in relief told Stiles it was as he saw it, a concession, a sign of trust. Stiles gave her a winning smile.

 

 “The coffee and the pie came from the café I work at, used to work at, as of today I guess. You should stop by while you’re in town,” Stiles said brightly, “my dad practically lives off the menu.”

 

 Araya eyed him curiously before sliding the edge of her fork into the pie crust. “You are an odd boy,” she declared, but it didn’t sound biting and beside Stiles, Derek gave an almost inaudible snort of amusement.

 

 “I think we’d all find it interesting to know how you and your father, a respected man of the law got involved in all this,” Margaret said, pulling her own plate toward her just as Ben sipped from his coffee.

 

 “Sheriff Stilinski was the first one on the scene after…after the fire,” Laura said, a little more softly. She seemed eased by the sight of her guests taking in the refreshments, by the notion of getting somewhere, of an alliance in reach that would keep her pack safe once and for all. “He just…took it in his stride and instead of werewolves he saw a family in trouble. He just did what he could to protect them. It didn’t matter what we were to him, he just wanted to do the right thing.”

 

 With any luck, this alliance would start a motion of that same thinking. Saving those that needed saving, whether human or supernatural.

 

 Derek shifted forward just enough to rest his arms on the table in front of him, for the first time letting his rigid ramrod composure ease a fraction. “Sheriff Stilinski…saved us,” Derek said, “And Stiles saved me.”

 

 Stiles felt something in his throat catch at the sincerity in Derek’s instinctive choice of words, the unashamed honesty. He was still just staring. He was struck speechless by it even as self-consciousness made him realise that he was definitely being judged for every moment of awestruck vulnerability in his being. The realisation only made him flounder more and his gaze darted to each person around the table, careful to avoid Derek but unable to avoid Peter, who looked worryingly amused.

 

 “Tea?” Peter offered, practically startling everyone at the table with his joviality. “It was my sister’s answer to any situation. No peace-meeting should be without it.” He pushed up from the table, cocking his head in a way that Stiles had come to fear, in spite of the accompanying warm smile. “Christopher, if you would be my aid.” It was a statement, not a question and Peter swept away from the table, deeper into the kitchen without waiting for Chris to follow him.

 

 Chris, for his part, sat up rigid in his chair in surprise and seemed uncharacteristically flummoxed.

 

 Stiles finally met Derek’s eyes and thought he spoke clearly without words, that Peter was by far the most terrifying person at the table.

 

 

 The afternoon had turned uncomfortably warm by the time Stiles found himself beside Derek and Peter on the porch, forming a polite if sweaty farewell regiment of three as Laura escorted the hunters, including Chris to the big SUV waiting outside.

 

 Stiles found himself wondering if there were any hunters out there that drove a VW Beetle.

 

 “It bodes well that Christopher walks at Laura’s side,” Peter noted lightly, eyes focussed on where Laura was shaking hands with each of the hunters in turn, receiving a surprisingly pleasant smile from Araya. Both he and Derek seemed poised like hawks, ready to strike if their alpha needed them, just in case the meeting that had ended optimistically amicable had been some sort of façade.

 

 “He is divorce,” Derek told his uncle without tearing his gaze from where Laura was speaking to Margaret.

 

 “He may need a shoulder to cry on, I can be _most_ sympathetic.” Peter smirked. Stiles didn’t have to look at him to know he smirked.

 

 “I can’t see Chris Argent crying,” Stiles said thoughtfully, “he seems more the type to take his anger and heartache out on middle-aged werewolves creating a crime against plunging v-necks with a hunting knife.”

 

 Peter’s smile was shark-like. “I’d be pleased to offer my assistance. I live with a therapist after all.”

 

 “He has…a daughter,” Derek added.

 

 “I am wonderful with children.”

 

 “If she’s anything like her dad she’ll stab you in your overly exposed solar plexus,” Stiles mused. Goading Peter was like running around with a sparkler, dangerous, thrilling, but sure to be followed by imminent disaster. This time, at least, when Stiles risked a glance over, Peter was still watching the exchange with the hunters with that same perilous delight.

 

 “I like a challenge,” Peter said but any further banter between him and Stiles was stalled as suddenly, Derek tensed between them.

 

 Stiles looked back out and saw that Laura was half-turned, Ben’s hand on her arm as if she’d been about to walk away and his touch had stilled her. He spoke, the distance swallowing his words too thoroughly for Stiles to hear, but whatever he said made Laura’s professional alpha expression thaw a little into the same shy smile Derek had.

 

 “He…he likes her,” Stiles acknowledged, provoking a mumble of annoyance that was almost a growl out of Derek’s throat.

 

 “Well, it would help our cause, a union to bring our two kingdoms together, as it were,” Peter said with a teasing lilt that made Derek glare at him. “I had better get the tools away before it rains,” he said, descending the steps as the SUV pulled away and making his way to where he and Laura had been working on the side of the house earlier, even though there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

 

 “Dude,” Stiles exhaled in relief. “I know he’s your uncle, but he is a serious asshat. And he still sorta scares the crap out of me.” He nudged Derek’s shoulder with his own when he didn’t respond, still staring at where Laura was watching the SUV make a slow, steady progress along the dirt track up to the tree line.

 

 “Hey, you okay?” With silence as his only answer, Stiles slowly lowered himself to the porch steps and leaned forward, arms resting on his knees. He watched Laura make her way into the trees with a casual stride, toeing off her shoes and already fiddling with the front of her shirt-dress as she vanished into the cover of wilderness.

 

 It was probably an alpha’s prerogative to check the perimeter of their territory after a potential threat had been sighted within its bounds, Stiles thought.

 

 It wasn’t long before he felt Derek ease down onto the step beside him, close in spite of how clammy and sticky the afternoon had become. Stiles had never wanted the closeness more though and he slid his hand out to knit his and Derek’s fingers together. The porch provided enough shade this late in the day to give some relief from the summer sun and a breeze blew through that made him almost groan with relief.

 

 He tipped sideways just enough to rest his head on Derek’s shoulder, thinking this would probably be one of those moments he remembered forever, sitting in the relief of a summer breeze with Derek. The smell of freshly planted flours, mown grass and paint filled his nose. He was pretty happy with that.

 

 “I’m…really proud of you, you know? You were amazing in there,” he murmured softly.

 

 Derek snorted.

 

 “C’mon, you held your own. And you were pretty fluent toward the end, once you got into your stride.”

 

 There was a grunt of a reply that Stiles decided to take as an agreement of sorts. He twisted his head so his chin was on Derek’s shoulder instead, leaving him free to study his face in profile. “I want you to be proud of yourself too, realise a milestone when you’ve crossed one. And I want you to let your sister be happy with Mr Darcy Van Helsing, if that’s what she wants. They sorta have chemistry, you know?”

 

 “I…don’t… He is a hunter.”

 

 Stiles sat back a little, the motion drawing Derek’s gaze to his face at last and to the wistful, fond expression on Stiles’s face. “If you don’t want them to judge you for being a wolf, you can’t judge them for being hunters,” he said carefully, knowing it was a delicate subject. If he had been in Derek’s situation, where he’d (granted, unwittingly) trusted a hunter and lost everything as a result, he’d be reluctant to trust another as well. But an alliance couldn’t be formed on distrust and prejudice, not a successful one anyway.

 

 “I’m not saying trust them blindly, be…cautious, Jesus you have the right to be, Derek, but don’t estrange them for something Kate and those other assholes did to you, or you’re going to sabotage any chance at safety for all werewolves like you and…well, Kate will have won, won’t she?”

 

 Derek studied him thoroughly, the way he did when Stiles’s words were rolling over and over in his mind. Stiles saw him accept the truth in them, but struggle to feel it as he looked out across the property to the trees where Laura had vanished. She was his sister, his one constant in his life and Stiles knew how that felt all too well, knew what protectiveness and worry that inspired. He stroked his fingers along the backs of Derek’s gently.

 

 “Laura’s smart as hell, and tough too. If he’s not trustworthy, she’ll find that out before she gets too deep and if he is, well you know she’ll make him prove it,” he said, watching the corner of Derek’s lips twitch just a fraction, probably at the shit Laura was capable of putting someone through. No one probably knew what a woman was capable of more than her kid brother.

 

 The memories passing through his eyes didn’t seem to sadden him, not exactly. Derek looked only wistful and nostalgic. It was a tribute to the gradual healing both time, stability and comfort had provided in the last few months. Rebuilding the house had been beneficial for him too, Stiles thought.

 

 “Hey,” he prodded gently, feeling the affection make his voice hoarse as he tilted his head to catch Derek’s eyes. “What you said, about me saving you?”

 

 Derek inclined his head in that expectant, guardedly curious way he did.

 

 “Just…” Stiles began awkwardly, licking his dry lips. “You too, you know? You saved me too.”

 

 The answering smile was slow to spread, like the sun rising as dawn swelled in the sky, but when it did, it was dazzling with its brilliance. Stiles didn’t think he’d ever become accustomed to it, ever _not_ feel his breath catch just a bit right in his ribs where it fluttered for freedom like a caged bird.

 

 “Want see my room?” Derek asked warmly. Stiles knew Derek, Laura and Peter had each been working on their own bedrooms respectively as well in their own time, but he hadn’t been upstairs yet.

 

 “Have you ordered a bed yet?” he asked mischievously.

 

 “No.”

 

 Stiles sighed in feigned disdain, “never mind, we’ll make do with the floor.”

 

 Derek’s laugh was more beautiful than birdsong.

 

*

 

 With a soft groan of satisfaction Stiles sat back in his desk chair and pressed ‘SEND’ on his report, filled with a sense of fulfilment at a job well done. The calendar on his desktop popped up in the corner, displaying the reminder set to pop up twice during his work day. He pushed back a little from his desk, taking a sip of his coffee before starting his exercises.

 

 There was a pot of prescription pain relievers and anti-inflammatory medication in his desk drawer that hadn’t even been opened. His last appointment with the physiotherapist and trigger point injections had been months ago now, but the routine he’d gotten himself into seemed to have kept the pain from returning so far. Parking his recklessness to some degree had probably done him the world of difference too.

 

 “Stilinski,” a voice called and Stiles craned his head to look round his computer monitor at his boss, Collins, approaching from the walled glass office that overlooked the office space Stiles and the other interns and assistants occupied. His marks (and probably respect for his dad) had gotten him into the insanely competitive internship programme at Beacon County Police Forensic Department. It’d been hard and he’d had many pre-conceived notions about his character to face at the start. He was the sheriff’s kid, someone who had originally wanted to be a police officer and ‘only changed his career to forensics’ after that’d been made impossible for him.

 

 He thought he’d mostly changed their minds about him, or started to at least. He’d proven that he deserved to be there, wanted to be there and could be good at this. His boss was a hard-ass but he was fair, Stiles thought. Collins was like one of those strict teachers that were only strict because they actually gave a shit about their job and the students they were in charge of.

 

 “Finished that report you ghosted on?” Collins asked, looking up from what Stiles guessed was the report he’d written up on the crime scene he’d attended with Stiles.

 

 “Just sent it to the printer, Sir,” Stiles said, finishing the last stretch of his shoulder before pushing to his feet. “I’ll grab it before I head off for lunch.”

 

 Collins surveyed him carefully, dark eyes shrewd in his dark face, skimming briefly over Stiles’s shoulder. “War wound giving you trouble, kid?” he asked and Stiles didn’t know him well enough to be sure if it was workplace banter-teasing or derisiveness in his tone. He was assuming the former, from what he’d gathered of Collins’s character in the weeks he’d worked under him.

 

 “No, Sir, just my routine post-assignment stretches to keep my typing muscles honed,” Stiles replied brightly, reassured by the quirk of Collins’s mouth. The guy knew full well about Stiles’s history, as did most people in Beacon County, it had been in the paper when the incident had happened for a start, but he didn’t give him any pressure for it, or any leeway either. Strict but fair.

 

 “My wife teaches yoga if that’s what keeps your report quality up,” Collins retorted dryly, and Stiles knew he was teasing then, in his own odd, inflectionless manner.

 

 Stiles smirked, making to tuck his chair under his desk to go fetch his report from the printer but Collins waved him off.

 

 “I’m heading that way Stilinski, I’ve got it. You did good yesterday at the scene.”

 

 A little flush of pride filled Stiles in spite of his determination to keep his professional cool. He ducked his head in gratitude, stifling the flurry of words that were bursting on the tip of his tongue as Collins headed to the back of the main office toward the printers. Maybe, just maybe, Stiles thought he could make something of himself here, make a difference. He wouldn’t do it with a star on his breast like his dad, but he thought that was okay, better even. He could help in a way that would be entirely his own.

 

 On his way down the stairs his phone vibrated in his pocket and he checked the ID on the screen before bringing it to his ear. “Scotty?”

 

 “I’m not interrupting at work, am I?” Scott asked uncertainly.

 

 “Dude, no, totally cool. Just heading out to lunch. You’re not cancelling tonight, right?”

 

 “No,” Scott assured him, sounding scandalised at the idea. “I was just checking we were still on. At the bar on third at eight, right?”

 

 “Yep,” Stiles agreed, “Derek is designated driver. We’re grabbing Lydia en-route if you two are too good for the bus too?”

 

 Scott snorted, probably imagining the disgust on Lydia’s face if she were forced to ride a bus, like it was the worst thing in the world. Stiles didn’t think she’d been on one in her life. She, Scott and Kira were all home at the same time for the first time in ages and they were taking advantage of the opportunity with drinks, dinner and a movie. It was the kind of thing Derek hadn’t really done with anyone other than Stiles, certainly not with a big group of friends. It was testament to the journey he’d taken that he’d agreed to come so readily.

 

 “You know, it makes no sense that the designated driver is the only one old enough to drink legally,” Scott mused. “You know we’ll all be drinking soft drinks, right?”

 

 “Technicality,” Stiles said dismissively. “I intend to get drunk on good company, my friend.” He followed the cycle of the revolving glass door round into the outside world. Pausing at the top of the stone steps, he beamed when he saw Derek standing beside the Camaro, all dark sunglasses and leather jacket and just too hot to be real, honestly. It made Stiles feel a little giddy as he descended.

 

 “See you tonight, buddy, I’ve got a hot lunch date,” Stiles said, bidding Scott goodbye and pocketing his phone as he reached Derek, who lifted his shades off at his approached. Stiles didn’t think he’d ever _not_ be stunned by those eyes. His stomach still clenched in a good way without fail.

 

 “You look…happy,” Derek noted, expression warm. He was still a little hesitant about public displays of intimacy, but welcomed the brief brush of Stiles’s on the corner of his as Stiles passed him to climb into the car.

 

 “I’ve got my man and food is imminent,” Stiles declared when Derek climbed in beside him, both pulling on their seatbelts. “Life doesn’t really get better than this.”

 

 He said it again as he bit into the deluxe Thanksgiving Sandwich at their preferred lunch spot a few blocks over. It was sort of a twice weekly thing of theirs. Stiles’s work was only an hour commute from home, a little over from Hale House, where the Hales all lived now but Derek didn’t seem to mind the drive. It seemed to relax him even, the routine, the domesticity of it. His speech therapist had her office about half way between too so it worked out pretty well.

 

 Their lunches were one of the places Stiles was perfectly happy for Derek to indulge him. Food was a gift you could never be too spoiled with, besides which, he was an intern with pretty much zero income and lunch was hardly an overture and it made Derek happy to treat him. It also meant he got to show Derek off, which…yeah, he was disgustingly proud of his boyfriend. Absolutely revolting. He’d make himself sick if he weren’t so damn happy.

 

 The café that was their regular spot offered outdoor seating, which they took advantage of whenever there was good weather, like right then. Stiles set his significantly reduced sandwich on the plate and nursed his coffee, while Derek did the same.

 

 “Are Laura and Peter back from London yet?”

 

 A lead in the investigation of exactly _what_ had killed Kate Argent had taken them both across the ocean. It was something that was of interest to both sides, after all. Though Stiles thought it also gave them ample opportunity for other, more personal pursuits. Not to mention some mutually beneficial goal to work toward, outside the general alliance for peace.

 

 Derek shook his head as he swallowed his mouthful. “Tomorrow. Probably Laura hanging for Benedict,” he replied, sounding distinctively unimpressed by that assumption.  
 

 Stiles snorted. “Don’t sound too pissed that your sister might be forging a relationship ‘with the enemy’ – or even getting some.”

 

 With an expression of disgust at that thought, Derek pointedly ignored Stiles’s words. “When back, she take Peter and Isaac to Calaveras think. Isaac want bite.”

 

 Isaac was one of Laura’s patients and it looked like potentially the first person to request the bite in the new Hale pack. It’d be interesting to see how the first application for the bite went down, especially since so far it’d only been the Hales doing favours for the Calaveras and Spencer-Whites, instead of the other way around. Although, he supposed the Calaveras did help out a local pack at Laura’s request when they were being wrongly targeted by volatile hunters.

 

 “How’s Peter doing with the _Bestiary_ he and Chris were compiling?”

 

 Derek winced. “He enjoy too much. Tease Chris. Far too much fun.”

 

 “I think Chris can handle himself. Maybe he finds Peter…entertaining?” Stiles laughed, but his smile wavered a little when he realised Derek seemed a little distracted, distanced as if his mind were caught elsewhere.  “Hey,” Stiles murmured softly, setting his coffee down to reach across the table and drag one fingertip across Derek’s knuckle, right down the length of his fingers. “You okay?”

 

 There was a beat, then Derek raised his eyes to Stiles, mouth twisting a little. “Williams say do purpose, for only me. Something I enjoy.”

 

 Stiles nodded slowly, not sure where this was going with that hesitant tone or look of uncertainty.

 

 Derek postponed the moment he’d have to continue by taking his time with the last few bites of his sandwich. He was wiping his fingers meticulously on a napkin when he finally added, “I…asked volunteer, at Beacon Hills Horticulture Society.” The fact that he’d pronounced that name so perfectly told Stiles he’d practiced it often, probably in preparation for applying as a volunteer. Stiles’s mother had volunteered there in her younger days and dragged Stiles along when he was small so he knew a little about what they did, their ongoing project on the green spaces throughout Beacon Hills. In fact they’d come across one of his mother’s old friends from there walking for coffee the other week…

 

 “Did you get the idea from meeting Audrey the other day?”

 

 Derek shrugged, but it was that kind of wordless gesture Stiles had come to associate with confirmation. “I was…always good, when a kid. At…plants and stuff.”

 

 Stiles nodded. “I get it. My mom loved it. Me not so much. I was a little terror,” he said with a grin. “She stopped taking me after a while because I caused more havoc than it was worth, but I could see how happy it made her. She loved volunteering there. So…I get it.”

 

 It was sort of at odds with Derek’s appearance, he supposed, the hard lean muscle and broad shoulders, but he knew how soft Derek’s hands could be too, how precise and careful. He knew Derek liked to be busy but quiet, he’d seen how involved he’d gotten in the Hale House garden. It might not have fit with a stereotype, with someone else’s perception of Derek, which is perhaps why Derek seemed a little hesitant, but he could see it just fine.

 

 “They…said yes,” Derek said cautiously still.

 

 “Really? That’s great!” Stiles exclaimed, squeezing Derek’s hand, their joined limbs practically vibrating with Stiles’s enthusiasm. “That’s sort of perfect, right? They have so many projects but there’s not a lot of pressure and the people are all really good, the right kind of people for you to sort of…I guess get used to people again? Get out there again? And you’d be doing what you like, what you’re good at.” He said it all in one excited breath and it was only when he paused to draw one in that he realised Derek didn’t _look_ as happy as Stiles thought he should. A little perhaps, but still mostly wary.

 

 “Why do you look so worried? This is…good right?” But even as he said it, even as he registered Derek’s contained composure, it was clear he was holding himself back for some reason. Stiles got it. It clicked into place like it was something he’d always known, just like that. “Hey,” he said, leaning in across the table as if that increased closeness could cast away the uncertainty of what lay ahead, prevent it from holding Derek back.

 

 Derek didn’t like to take risks, didn’t like the unknown which Stiles thought was pretty understandable. Understandable but not something he could let Derek continue to let rule him. Not when Derek had saved him from that very thing, had probably set him on the path he was on now by doing so.

 

 “It’s alright to be afraid and happy at the same time,” Stiles assured him. “Dude, you terrify me more than anything. More than the career of my dreams or werewolf/hunter unions.”

 

 That earned him a smile at least, a visible decline in the pressure that seemed to have been quashing Derek’s excitement. It still surprised Derek, Stiles thought, that he had people who supported him, who wanted him to go out there and do what he wanted to do, whatever it was. But that was ok, Stiles had supported a self-flagellating Scott pretty much all the way into the veterinary course he hadn’t thought he was good enough for. He could do it again for Derek.

 

 “You remember what you said, right? About doing something worthwhile, something extraordinary with your life?” Stiles asked, because he thought maybe a little of the fear of making a mistake with his life also came from the family Derek had lost, wanting to make them proud – he had some experience with that himself after all. “You said, well, you said that _Laura_ said that being happy was pretty extraordinary. But you also said that life was too short, right? So if this is what makes you happy, Derek, even if it’s just for a little while, then do it, that’s all anyone who matters wants for you.”

 

 He thought he could hear his mom in his words, wondered wistfully for a moment what she would have thought of Derek. He didn’t wonder for long though, because of course she’d love him, especially with his head tilted in that way, like listening to Stiles talk was the best thing about being alive. His face was mostly expressionless and yet gently tinged with a fondness that Stiles knew meant _‘you are what makes me happy’_.

 

 With a little smile of his own, he plucked up the nearby plastic fork and slid it down through the slice of chocolate fudge cake they’d ordered to share. Scooping up the portion with the most soft fudge icing, he held it up for Derek.

 

 Derek dipped his chin with amused affection, eyes bright with the afternoon sun. If ever he was in doubt of Stiles’s love for him, it was clear now. Any other day Stiles would’ve fought tooth and nail for the portion with the most icing.

 

 “You not have finish your sandwich.”

 

 Stiles raised an eyebrow in challenge. “You’re going to scold me for not finishing my lunch before my pudding?” he asked, because seriously, when had Derek ever known him not to finish food? He drew the fork toward himself but Derek was too quick. He snagged hold of Stiles’s wrist, stilling it midair and wrapping his lips around the mouthful with an intense look on his face that made Stiles swallow hard with a little ‘hmnn’ of a gasp.

 

 Derek’s tendency and delight in teasing him had definitely grown with his confidence. Stiles was still frozen when Derek drew back, gently releasing his wrist and chewing with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Stiles countered it by swiping the blunt reverse of the fork across Derek’s bearded cheek, leaving a smear of chocolate fudge icing in its wake.

 

 “Child,” Derek chided with a barely concealed smile as he wiped it off with a napkin.

 

 Stiles cackled and shoved the rest of the sandwich in his mouth. “You love me,” he protested, with just a little bit of his food left in his mouth. He did wipe a little self-consciously at his chin though, when Derek just inclined his head to the side a little, hands folded under his chin as he watched him. “Bad table manners and all,” Stiles added, taking a bit of the cake for himself now.

 

 “I do,” Derek said plainly.

 

 “And you know I love you, right?” Stiles asked, because neither of them were particularly good with words, not like that anyway. Talking through their problems, sure, talking about such simple yet obvious emotions? Not so much, not in plain words.

 

 It was in every day though, in the way they spent most evenings together, the way Derek would sneak in through his bedroom window if they didn’t, just because. The way his dad took Derek’s side in the morning coffee arguments and Laura insisted both Stiles and Noah come for the weekly Sunday dinner at the Hale House. The way Derek was always there when he woke up, even if he didn’t live in the apartment above Stiles anymore. There were unflattering Polaroid photos pinned to a huge pin board on Derek’s new bedroom wall. He played Stiles’s CDs in the Camaro without thinking and their laundry was all mixed up together at both their homes.

 

 It was just everything without ever needing to say a word.

 

 “I know,” Derek murmured, apparently just content to watch Stiles nurse his coffee.

 

 Stiles considered the cup, running long fingers around the rim thoughtfully. He was slowly but surely getting more and more accustomed to being looked at as if he were the centre of the universe.

 

 “You know that time you first came into the shop to buy that coffee? Was that a coincidence or…?”

 

 Derek very pointedly busied his mouth with the dregs of his own coffee. When it was drained entirely though, he had no choice but to admit sheepishly, “I came for you.”

 

 “Because I fascinated you,” Stiles recalled Derek admitting what seemed like a lifetime ago.

 

 “Way you talk… _talked_ to me,” Derek clarified wistfully, “Was nice. I liked it. I…wanted more.”

 

 Stiles just swallowed, absolutely floored by the sweet unlikelihood of that admission because Derek had never said that before. It was perhaps a little ironic that the thing that drove people mad about him was the thing that’d made Derek seek him out again. His awkward, senseless prattle and lack of brain to mouth filter. Or, he supposed, his tendency to talk to anyone that would listen, without even a pause for thought or opportunity to mitigate his words. For the most part, Derek had wanted to be treated without kid gloves and Stiles was largely incapable of pausing long enough to even consider how to do otherwise.

 

 It’d become so much more than that though. He couldn’t wait to see Derek recover more of himself, his speech, his brazen attitude and sarcastic humour. He couldn’t wait to see him become part of the world he’d built from the ashes of the fire all those years ago. Be there with him while he did it. He just wanted…more of this, really.

 

 He wanted to wake up to that sleepy, adoring smile and have lunch with him, tell him about work and endure their respective relatives’ banter. He wanted to put his own insecurities and self-imposed limitations behind him. He wanted to make a difference, just like his parents, like Laura and the pack in general, but most of all he wanted all of it, everything, anything with Derek.

 

 It was evident in every syllable of Derek’s relatively simple words then, that he wanted the same and that kind of tenderness was quite breathtaking, almost incapacitating in its fervency.

 

 “You can have everything,” Stiles murmured, voice just a little husky with how touched he felt. He would give everything he had to give, if Derek wanted it.

 

 “All of me,” Derek reciprocated, just as softly, clearly portraying he felt exactly the same way.

 

 It wasn’t always what Derek said, it was the way he said it that had the power to touch him like that. Stiles felt almost giddy with the subtle reverberations that seemed to carry through his skin at the sound of Derek’s voice, at his touch in intimate moments like this. The sparkle in Derek’s eyes and his almost-smile was all for Stiles, even when the waitress came over to settle their bill.

 

 Derek ordered a second piece of cake to go, likely destined to be Stiles’s afternoon snack, though he’d make Stiles suffer and not tell him as much all the way back to the office. He did it all with a knowing, demonstrative look in his eyes that incited a look of goofy bliss on Stiles’s face he was helpless to temper. Whatever happened next, Stiles didn’t think chocolate fudge cake and Derek Hale’s near smile could be a bad starting point.

 

 

_THE END_


End file.
